


The Wrong Choice

by Yellowdancer21



Series: The Wrong Man Collection [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders (Dragon Age) Needs a Hug, Angst, Background Justice (Dragon Age), F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Gen, Isabela being Isabela (Dragon Age), Justice (Dragon Age) takes control, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Panic Attacks, Rival Hawke, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, Warden Bethany Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 56,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29026422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yellowdancer21/pseuds/Yellowdancer21
Summary: Before Anders was the wrong man in the Inquisition, he made the wrong choice in Kirkwall – at least according to some. A prequel to The Wrong Man, this story is set in the same version of the universe and tells the story of Anders' life in the City of Chains before he became the Inquisitor.
Relationships: Anders & Bethany Hawke, Anders & Varric Tethras, Anders/Female Hawke, Anders/Isabela (Dragon Age), Anders/Nathaniel Howe, Anders/Varric Tethras, Fenris/Female Hawke
Series: The Wrong Man Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1311992
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	1. New Friends

**Author's Note:**

> I realized when I was finishing writing Only Scratches that while I’ve written quite a bit about Varric pining over Anders, I’ve never written much of the reverse. This is partially because Anders had basically given up on him by the time they reunited in the Wrong Man and he was too preoccupied by his battles with Justice in Only Scratches to pay attention to anything else. As soon as the idea occurred to me I realized I needed to write it. It also gave me a reason to write a prequel to The Wrong Man. 
> 
> I don’t plan to go through every major quest in the game since that would be Hawke’s story more than Anders’ but I plan to include as many details as I can that are referenced in The Wrong Man as well as the quests most relevant for Anders and his relationships with Varric and Hawke.
> 
> (Also, I hadn’t planned to write another story set in DA2, especially so soon after finishing one, but keep in mind this story is directly connected to the Wrong Man’s version of canon while Only Scratches is a separate character study with slightly different versions of the characters.)

Varric prided himself on his impeccable instincts, but he really had to pat himself on the back when it came to recruiting Hawke. He’d known as soon as he started hearing rumors about her that she was someone he needed to befriend, but it wasn’t until he started following her around and watching her antics first-hand that he realized what a gem he had discovered. Hawke was that special blend of capable and reckless that made for the most interesting heroes, and with the way she was running around the city making enemies as fast as she made friends, she was going to be somebody in Kirkwall in no time.

Better yet, she had started collecting a cast of characters around her who were no less interesting than she was. Varric was amassing writing material faster than he could produce it, but he wasn’t complaining. What a luxury to have so much inspiration that he could actually sift through it for the best bits and discard the rest. And he suspected things were only going to get better from here.

Today they were tracking down a missing Templar. In their search for Keran, they had first tracked down his colleague on the coast only to discover that he had somehow become possessed by a demon. The irony of a Templar who was charged with policing mages in case they turned into abominations turning into one himself was lost on no one, but Anders seemed to be enjoying the joke even more than the rest of them. Eyes narrowing, Varric studied the mage as they walked across Hightown, trying once again to figure him out and failing. Anders defied easy descriptions, and that was probably what Varric found so intriguing about him. 

Varric was the one who had tipped Hawke off about the Grey Warden in the undercity in the first place, but he hadn’t expected the man to be so complicated and tragic. Tall enough that even Aveline had to look up at him—and the guard captain was the kind of tall that gave Varric a neckache—Anders was also so thin beneath his worn coat with the ridiculous feather pauldrons that Varric worried he was starving himself. Lighthearted and flirty one moment and darkly sarcastic and bitter the next, Anders was simultaneously fragile and deathly dangerous, not to mention the closest thing to an abomination one could get without actually being one. Anders was a contradiction in almost every way. 

“Sorry about your friend, Blondie,” Varric said, hanging back from the rest of the group to fall into step beside the mage. Anders hadn’t said a word about their failed rescue attempt at the chantry a few weeks ago, but Varric suspected there was a tragic tale behind the whole thing and he hated to miss out on a story. “I’ve meant to say that for a while,” he added, “but we haven’t had much time to talk.”

Anders looked at him with a hint of wariness. The mage was sharp enough to know when someone was fishing for information, but he had also been surprisingly open about other details from his past so Varric figured the direct approach was best. “Thank you. I only wish I had acted sooner. If I had, then maybe…” He looked away, a sigh escaping his lips. 

“The two of you must have been close.” Varric winced, realizing that he was being more obvious than usual, but Anders didn’t react to his bluntness.

“We were very close once. Even though Karl and I haven’t been together for a long time, it was still awful to see him like that. Being made tranquil was his greatest fear.”

Together, Varric noted, his suspicions confirmed. “You did the right thing, Blondie.” 

“It was the only thing I could still do for him.”

Studying Anders more closely, Varric weighed whether or not he should say anything more, but knowing this about Anders made him worry that Hawke’s rather obvious interest in him would become uncomfortable for both of them. Glancing at Hawke’s back and deciding she and her sister had walked far enough ahead to be out of earshot, he said quietly, “Listen, I know it isn’t any of my business, but should I tell Hawke to back off? I don’t think she knows that you…”

Looking at him in confusion, Anders smiled a bit when he realized what Varric meant. “I’m not only interested in men, if that’s what you’re implying. And I can handle a little flirting. In fact, I rather enjoy it most of the time.”

Varric’s eyes widened and he nodded again. “That’s a relief.”

Now it was Anders’ turn to study him, and Varric felt more than a little uncomfortable with the mage’s scrutiny. “What about you, Varric?”

“What about me, what?” 

“Hawke flirts with you too, you know.”

“Ah,” Varric replied with a laugh. “Who doesn’t?”

“And you do tend to flirt back.”

Smirking, Varric nudged him with an elbow. “Are you jealous, Blondie?”

A crooked smile crossed Anders’ lips, but the look in his eyes was one that Varric didn’t have a name for. “More than you know.”

Something about his tone made Varric curious, but Anders avoided his gaze after that, picking up his pace to catch up to the others. Striking up a conversation with Bethany, he asked about her training as a mage and that got her talking about her father. Pushing aside his confusion over whatever Anders had been implying with his words, Varric eagerly pricked up his ears to eavesdrop. He hadn’t heard much about the missing patriarch of the Hawke family. Apparently Bethany’s father had taught her everything she knew about magic, and it was obvious by the way she talked about him that she admired him greatly. But when Bethany looked fondly at Anders and said he reminded her of her father, Varric glanced ahead at Hawke, wondering if her attraction to Anders had more to do with daddy issues than the handsome mage’s mystique. Maybe he should be discouraging her attention after all.

“And here we are,” Hawke said suddenly and Varric realized they had already reached their destination. Pausing beneath the red lanterns outside the Blooming Rose, Hawke turned back to look at the rest of them. “No day in Hightown is complete without a visit to the brothel, right?”

“Maybe I should stay outside?” Bethany asked uncertainly.

Hawke shrugged. “Only if you want to. This shouldn’t take long.”

Bethany’s curiosity won out and she followed her sister inside, looking around with wide eyes at the scantily dressed workers mingling with men and women from every walk of life. The brothel really was the great equalizer, a place where people from every fractured corner of the city could rub elbows–among other body parts–without recrimination. Varric had never been terribly fond of the place himself. He preferred for his company to want to spend time with him for a reason other than coin, but he also understood how vital businesses like this were to the city’s shadow economy.

Anders sighed as soon as they stepped through the door, muttering under his breath. “If someone tries to hire me again, I’m leaving.” 

Grinning, Varric looked up at him with a joke ready on his lips, but he held his tongue when he realized that Anders was serious. Of course that had actually happened. The mage was sort of helplessly attractive and yet seemed so accustomed to his looks and preoccupied with his causes that he forgot that he was anything out of the ordinary. Not even his ratty coat and worn appearance could tarnish that glow; in fact they only made him look more the part of a desperate beauty willing to sell his physical assets for some quick coin. A little worried now about Anders’ safety–not so much because the mage couldn’t defend himself but because defending himself in a place like this would reveal him as an apostate and put him in even more danger–Varric lingered by his side as they made their way through the brothel, ready to pull him close and pretend to be his buyer himself if they ran into trouble.

Gasping, Bethany stopped in her tracks suddenly. “Is that Gamlen at the bar?”

Hawke laughed. “Of course it is. What a charming uncle we have…”

Groaning, Bethany shook her head. “We can’t tell mother. She’d be horrified.”

Luckily, they were able to avoid Gamlen as they tracked down their mark, a woman named Idunna, “Exotic Wonder from the East,” after Hawke worked her own brand of magic on the brothel’s madam and gained access to her books. They found Idunna in a room off the main chamber, and she was equally charming as she was beautiful. Varric instinctively liked her for no reason he could define. She had a mesmerizing way of talking, and Varric found himself watching her lips with a little smile as she spoke, his head tilting to follow her as she paced the room. 

He couldn’t figure out why Hawke gave him a dirty look when he suggested they should be gentle with her. “What are you talking about, Varric? We’re here to find out what she knows about Keran.”

“Yes, yes,” Varric heard himself say, heat spreading through him as he added, “But certainly there’s no harm in mixing a little business and pleasure?”

“You should listen to your friend,” Idunna suggested in a voice like honey.

Scowling, Hawke returned her attention to Idunna. “As charming and relentless as you are, I’m here to investigate.”

Varric lost track of the conversation then, his eyes tracking every movement Idunna made as if she were performing for him alone. It wasn’t until he heard the fear in Hawke’s voice that he realized something was wrong. Looking up at her, he saw that Hawke had drawn a dagger and was slowly lifting it to her own throat, Idunna miming her actions across from her with a wicked smile. 

“Anders?” Hawke gasped through gritted teeth, the hand holding the blade shaking with her effort to fight whatever Idunna was doing to her. 

Lifting a hand with obvious effort, Anders grimaced as he worked a spell, and whatever it was, it did the trick, the air filling with static electricity as if whatever Anders had done to break Idunna’s control had left loose magic behind. Shaking his head to clear it, Varric was stunned to realize that he had fallen into a trap. 

“How did you? Oh...shit.” Idunna’s confidence crumbled as her eyes darted back and forth between Anders and Hawke in fear. “Please, spare me.”

“She’s a blood mage,” Anders hissed in disgust.

And that was all the reason Hawke needed to kill her. 

Shaking off the fog of magic still clinging to his mind, Varric avoided looking at the woman as she crumpled to the floor. “Maybe we can find answers somewhere around here,” he said in a raw voice. “And then a cold shower.” He felt Anders press a hand against his shoulder, and as much as he really didn’t like the idea of having more magic used on him, he was relieved when he felt a cleansing rush of magic clear away the remnants of whatever Idunna had done to him. “Thanks, Blondie.”

Idunna obviously relied on her magic to protect her since she left enough clues behind that it was easy to track her cabal of blood mages to their hideout in the undercity. Arrogant and violent, they were trying to recreate ancient Tevinter in the middle of Kirkwall, and they had targeted Templars specifically to flaunt their power. Anders no longer seemed amused by the irony. Varric was also developing a new appreciation for how dangerous a mage could be with a demon on their side, but they happened to have a mage bolstered by a spirit on theirs and Hawke was a force to be reckoned with when she was angry. 

Once the mages were dealt with, they turned their attention to the Templar held in stasis in one corner of the room. They’d found Keran but it was impossible to tell from simply looking if the blood mages had already turned him into one of them. 

“Anders,” Hawke said uncertainly. “Can you tell if Keran’s been possessed?”

Frowning, Anders shook his head. “In spite of what you’re thinking, I don’t actually know what it’s like to be possessed by a demon. But there’s a pretty easy way to find out if he is.” He lifted his hands to fling a burst of electricity at the Templar. Keran reacted in pain, but did not fight back, a look of betrayal in his bright blue eyes. Anders shrugged. “If there was a demon in there, it would have defended itself. Looks like he’s safe.”

“Well, that’s one way to test a theory, I suppose,” Varric muttered, amazed by how Anders always managed to surprise him.

They walked Keran back to the Gallows and Hawke reported to Knight-Captain Cullen about what they had learned. In spite of Anders’ plea that she avoid going into any details that would make the Templars even more vigilant than they already were, Hawke didn’t hesitate to tell him about the horrors the blood mages had planned in addition to everything they had already done.

“Those mages see the rest of us as ants to be crushed,” Keran said, adding fuel to the fire Hawke had already thrown at Cullen’s feet. The Templar recruit’s gaze drifted toward Anders with resentment, and Varric looked up to see Anders’ jaw clench with frustration. “They won’t stop until they’ve destroyed the Chantry and the Templars forever.”

“The Templars have good reason to be vigilant,” Hawke agreed.

Hands clenching at his sides, Anders said through gritted teeth, “We’re not all blood mages.” 

Varric looked at Cullen in concern. It was a pretty horrible idea to announce you were a free mage in the midst of the Gallows, and in front of the Knight-Captain no less, but luckily, Cullen didn’t appear to have heard Anders.

“Not every mage gives into temptation,” Cullen said, still focused on Hawke, “but none are ever free of it. At any time, any mage could make the wrong choice and turn into a monster, from the lowest apprentice to the most seasoned enchanters. Mages cannot be treated like people. They are not like you and me.”

Hawke grimaced at that and glanced at Bethany who was practically hiding behind her, arms clasped around her waist as if to defend her from prying Templar eyes. She looked no more pleased with this conversation than Anders was and was acting twice as nervous at being in the Gallows. Hawke turned back to face Cullen and finally responded with a neutral comment that eased no one’s mind, and Anders had evidently heard enough. 

Worried Anders would do something rash, Varric glanced back at Hawke to confirm she had the conversation covered and then followed after him. He found Anders crouched on the edge of the docks, arms wrapped around his legs and head bowed down to touch his knees. Marveling at his flexibility, Varric hovered a few steps away, trying to think of something he could say that would make Anders feel better. He had mostly made a habit of avoiding the struggles between mages and templars, but he could see the flaws in the arguments of both sides. The fact that the situation seemed ultimately irreconcilable was the main reason he had avoided it. He didn’t like problems without solutions, and the only way to solve this one was for one side to have power over the other.

Lifting his head and looking out over the water with an empty expression, Anders said softly. “I know him. Cullen.”

“Really?” Varric moved closer so that he could hear Anders clearly.

“He trained as a Templar at the Circle in Ferelden. I escaped from there before joining the Wardens.”

“Do you think he recognized you?”

Anders shook his head with a frown. “If he did, do you think I’d still be walking free?”

“Blondie…” Varric felt a strange emotion clench at his chest, feverish in its intensity. He’d never before wanted to get in the middle of a fight between mages and templars, but he knew in that moment that he would not be able to let any Templar attempt to shackle Anders without standing in the way.

Standing up slowly, Anders sighed. “I’m heading back to my clinic. Will you let Hawke know?”

Catching his sleeve, Varric studied the expression on Anders’ face before letting him go. “Be careful.”

A smile warmed Anders’ face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll see you later, Varric.”


	2. Flotsam

Hawke hadn’t known how much she missed the smell of trees and fresh earth until she was walking along a wooded path with the wind in her hair. Now that she realized how lovely it was to finally step foot outside the city, she felt guilty for leaving Bethany behind. They’d lived their whole lives in a small town in the country until the Blight forced them to flee Fereldan, but since arriving in Kirkwall they’d spent almost all their time within the city’s thick walls working off their debt. Even after they finished their year of servitude, Hawke hadn’t thought about leaving the city until she remembered her promise to the strange woman who could turn into a dragon, the Witch of the Wilds who had saved them from the darkspawn. She found herself feeling grateful to the woman all over again since this favor gave her the perfect reason to leave the city for a while.

Smiling broadly, she glanced at her companions and realized that at least one of them wasn’t enjoying all the fresh air and sunshine as much as she was. “The wilderness doesn’t seem to be agreeing with you, Varric.” 

Waving a bug away from his face, Varric said sourly, “What’s not to like? Creepy crawly things everywhere, giant spiders in the caves, mud on my boots and skeleton warriors sprouting from the ground. It’s great, really.”

Amused to see something finally getting under the dwarf’s skin, she said, “If you’re that miserable, you can head back to the city early.”

“No way. I’ve already gone this far. We’re going to see the Dalish and I’m going to write a damn good story about it all.” 

Hawke’s life had changed significantly since meeting Varric. She had gone from being just one more unknown refugee to someone who knew people, and that knowledge had mostly come from Varric’s network of contacts all over the city. He also happened to be quite a bit of fun, and so charming that she occasionally found herself wondering what it would be like to have a dwarven lover. But Varric was an incorrigible tease and she knew better than to get her hopes up. Besides, she had no shortage of attractive companions around her these days.

One of which was creeping up behind Varric at the moment. “Varric,” Anders said sharply. “Don’t move.”

The dwarf froze in place, closing his eyes with dread. “Whatever it is, Blondie, just get rid of it.”

Hawke covered a smile behind her hand when she realized what Anders was doing. “Maker’s breath. What  _ is _ that?” Anders leaned closer as if to inspect something on Varric’s back and then pinched Varric’s shoulder with a grin.

Varric leapt a few steps away – much further than Hawke would have expected his short legs to carry him so quickly – his eyes wide as he brushed more invisible bugs off his coat sleeves and shook himself from head to toe. 

Exchanging a look with her, Anders started laughing and Hawke joined him, unable to hold back her giggles when Varric gave them both a confused look. This was exactly the kind of joke she might have played on one of her siblings, so she appreciated that Anders had similar instincts. She might not agree with his opinions on the Circles, but he was handy in a fight and made the view more interesting the rest of the time, all legs and broad shoulders, his face a combination of sharp angles and rough edges that softened when he smiled. It was unfortunate he made the expression so rarely.

Eyes narrowing, Varric looked back and forth between them with a frown. “Someone want to let me in on the joke?”

“There was nothing there,” Fenris explained blandly. “The mage was deliberately trying to scare you.” Fenris was frowning as usual, slender arms crossed over his armored chest as he regarded Anders with disdain, but Hawke was more distracted by his deep voice and the shivers it sent down her spine. It didn’t matter what Fenris said, really. She had the same reaction every time.

Varric shifted his attention to Anders, and the mage stifled his laughter quickly with a cough, darting away when Varric lunged toward him, but Varric was agile for a dwarf. Catching him by the belt and jabbing a finger against his chest, Varric promised with a playful glint in his eyes, “You’re going to regret that, Blondie, when you find out how good I am at revenge.”

Hawke watched them, noticing the way Anders bit at his lower lip, the glow of anticipation in his eyes as he looked down at Varric. Suddenly Anders’ teasing seemed more like flirting to her, and she tilted her head in curiosity.

“We should get moving,” Fenris said with a sigh, interrupting her train of thought. “Sundermount is quite the climb and the day is already waning.” He was right, of course.

“It looks like the Dalish camp is right around that corner,” Hawke said, clearing her throat and waving at Anders and Varric to come along.

Hawke had thought that her promise would be fulfilled with the delivery of the amulet to the Dalish Keeper, but apparently a climb higher up the mountain and a ritual at an altar was also required. They met up with a young Dalish mage on their way, a skittish elf with the most enormous green eyes Hawke had ever seen. Merrill was adorably awkward and rather naive, so Hawke was surprised that she wanted to leave her tribe and live in the city instead. But it quickly became obvious by the way that the other elves treated her that she was no longer welcome with the Dalish even though Merrill was evasive about why. Still, she was bubbly and sweet and Hawke was starting to really admire her pluck.

Then they found their path blocked by a magical seal and Merrill offered to dismantle it. Hawke gasped when she drew a knife and sliced her hand open, chanting under her breath as she wove the blood into her magic in order to break the seal.

“Blood magic?” Fenris hissed. “Foolish. Very foolish.” Hawke gave him a look, hoping he could control his temper. He had little tolerance for anyone who used magic at all, but he tolerated blood magic even less after the horrors it had inflicted on him as a slave in Tevinter. He had a tendency to use the powers those manipulations had given him to reach into people’s chests and crush their still beating hearts when he was angry. 

“I know what I’m doing,” Merrill insisted. “The spirit helped us, didn’t it?”

Anders was unconvinced. “That was a demon, not a spirit.” Hawke supposed if anyone knew the difference it would be him. At least, she hoped he knew the difference.

“Demons are just another kind of spirit,” Merrill replied, eyes wide with sincerity. “It’s not their fault what they are.”

But Fenris scoffed. “Ignore the tiger. Not its fault that it’s going to eat you. Sound advice.” He turned away with an angry huff and the sunlight caught momentarily in the lyrium tattoos that snaked over his dark skin. 

Returning her attention to Merrill, Hawke asked, “Is the altar far now?” She wasn’t a fan of blood magic herself, but in her short time knowing Anders and Fenris she had not heard them agree about anything until this moment. They were each powerful in their own right but together they would be nearly unstoppable, and Hawke didn’t want anything bad to happen to this sweet, if misguided, elf if they decided that she was too much of a danger.

As it turned out, the altar was just around the corner, but they had to make it through a haunted graveyard to get there. Finally dispatching the last of the ghouls and placing the amulet on the altar, Hawke stepped back while Merrill completed the ritual, jaw dropping open in surprise when the Witch of the Wilds herself crawled out of the amulet in a flash of light and smoke. Merrill immediately fell to her knees in a bow as if the woman were someone to be worshipped, calling her by the name Asha'bellanar. This was one of the many names the woman had shared with Hawke in their first meeting, but the one that had stuck with her most was Flemeth. It seemed oddly familiar, as if she’d heard it in cautionary tales as a child.

“Were you in that thing the whole time?” Hawke asked, arching a brow at the amulet.

Flemeth laughed, a raspy chuckle like a rusty blade against a whetstone. “Only a piece. A small piece. But it was all I needed. A bit of security should the inevitable occur. And if I know my Morrigan, it already has.”

Anders frowned. “Morrigan. Why does that name sound so familiar?”

Flemeth looked at him with a wry smile, a knowing look in her eyes. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually.”

“What are you?” he asked, his brows drawing together. “A spirit? An abomination? This is no magic I’ve ever seen.”

Chuckling, the woman gave him a knowing look. “And you would know of spirits and abominations.”

“I’m a mage. Of course I know of such things.” Anders sounded defensive, and Fenris snorted at how completely he was missing her point. 

Giving Fenris a smile, the witch finally answered Anders’ question. “I am a fly in the ointment, a whisper in the shadows. I am also an old, old woman.” She chuckled again. “More than that, you need not know. I am but a fragment cast adrift from the whole. A bit of flotsam to cling to in the storm.”

“A fragment?” Hawke asked, confused. This witch spoke in riddles as always.

“You need not understand, child. Know only that you may have saved my life as I once saved yours – an even trade, I think.”

Apparently, Flemeth had used Hawke to smuggle her out of Ferelden unseen. She claimed she had an appointment to keep now, and Hawke felt suddenly uneasy, wondering if helping this witch had been a good thing or a bad thing, but it was obvious she wasn’t going to get many sensible answers out of her regardless. 

“We stand upon the precipice of change,” the witch said then, turning to face the view with a dramatic flair. “The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment, and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Cheap advice from a dragon.”

Flemeth’s smile turned wicked around the edges, but her eyes were sparkling with mirth as she began to back toward the edge of the cliff. “Now has come the time for me to leave. You have my thanks, and my sympathy.” But then she paused and turned to look at Anders as if she had nearly forgotten something. “And you, have you remembered yet why you know my daughter’s name?”

“Daughter,” Hawke repeated with a groan, giving Anders a significant look. “First your encounter with Isabela and now this. Are we just going to keep running across your former lovers everywhere we go?”

Chuckling, Varric slapped Anders on the back, “Blondie, you dirty dog.”

“That’s it!” Anders said, eyes widening. “Not that.” He gave Hawke and Varric each a dirty look. “I’ve never even met her, but the Warden-Commander mentioned traveling with a woman named Morrigan during the Blight.”

Flemeth nodded, a faint smile clinging to her lips. “I’m sure he did.”

“But she’s your daughter?” Anders asked. “You talk about her like she’s your enemy.”

“That’s how she sees it, no doubt, but I have a feeling you’ll get a chance to ask her yourself one day.” She tilted her head at him thoughtfully. “I’d give you some advice as well, but there’s little point. Your path is already laid out before you.”

Hawke didn’t like the sound of that, but she was quickly distracted from her worry by Flemeth’s impressive transformation into a dragon right before their eyes. Great wings beat at the air and the gusts nearly knocked them all off their feet when she took flight, gaining altitude quickly and disappearing above the clouds.

“Well, that was weird,” Varric said when she was gone and Hawke laughed. Trust the dwarf to keep things light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always loved this quest, mostly because I really like Flemeth, but until I was replaying it for reference this time I had never seen Flemeth's comments to Anders. You have to have just the right combination of people for him to be the one who speaks to her. Obviously I embellished it a bit here, but I felt like I needed to make his role more significant since he'll go on to become important in The Wrong Man. I like the idea of her seeing a hint of it coming here.


	3. The Deep Roads

When Anders agreed to give Hawke his maps, he hadn’t expected to end up in the Deep Roads himself. The whole exchange was simply a way to get help for Karl, but when he had learned what the damned Templars had done and that it was already too late to save him, Anders felt lost. Karl was the whole reason he had come to Kirkwall in the first place and now he was dead. 

For a while he’d buried himself in his work, focusing on the good he could do in his clinic and making what difference he could for the refugees from Ferelden. Justice seemed to be happy with these efforts, and when Justice was happy then Anders was happy—or at least as close as he got to the emotion these days. But Hawke kept stopping by and asking him to help with various tasks around the city. He hadn’t put his staff to much use in battle since escaping the Wardens, and it was nice to take a break from the clinic–and Darktown–from time to time.

He couldn’t decide what to make of Hawke. She had flirted with him from the moment they met and he had flirted back out of pure reflex, but after a while in her company he realized that she flirted with everyone and that it meant very little to her most of the time. She was not a fan of his opinions about the Circle, even after seeing the evidence of what the Templars had done to Karl, but the fact that she continued to associate with him in spite of their differences of opinion was intriguing. The more cynical part of him thought it was because his healing abilities were valuable to someone who led as dangerous of a life as she did, but regardless of her reasons, she treated him well enough otherwise. And she was easy on the eyes, a study in contrasts, pale skin against black hair, thin, willowy frame strong with sturdy muscle and bright blue eyes against the monochromatic wardrobe she preferred. 

Hawke was good at making friends, and many of her companions were even more interesting to Anders than she was. Some of them were infuriating, the two elves in particular, but he admired Aveline’s strength of character and laughed more in Isabela’s company than he had in a long time. But it was the surface dwarf who kept him coming back to the Hanged Man on evenings when Justice would have much preferred him to stay at the clinic and prepare poultices and potions for the next day. Varric would be fun to be around if only for the fact that he was charming, roguishly handsome and witty, but it was his generosity and goodness that most drew Anders to him. 

He’d learned from Hawke that Varric was the one who had led her to find Anders in the first place even though they’d never met until the day Hawke walked into his clinic, and it didn’t take long to realize that the dwarf had spies tucked away in every corner of the city. Within a week of making his acquaintance, the streets outside Anders’ clinic suddenly became a lot safer than they had been and he no longer saw Templars patrolling the area. Instead, he saw more dwarves around than usual and they never caused him any trouble even though he’d had run-ins with them in the past. He also started receiving anonymous donations, supplies that he desperately needed to keep the clinic afloat, and although Varric refused to acknowledge his role in the shipments, Anders knew they were from him. 

Anders was not accustomed to such kindness, especially without a price, so he didn’t know what to think of Varric’s generosity at first. He kept waiting for the dwarf to call in a favor or demand something from him he would not be willing to give. But Varric never even admitted to being behind any of it. And then other members of their little group began calling him out for things he had done for them as well and Anders realized that Varric was just that kind–at least to his friends. 

So when Hawke had come to Anders asking that he join her on their expedition to the Deep Roads, he had said yes even though he wanted desperately to never set foot in the place again. He knew that Varric and his brother were the ones organizing the expedition and they would all be safer with a healer and a Grey Warden along. 

And now here they were, a week into their trip, and Anders was starting to lose his mind. Pacing back and forth across one corner of the camp, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine he was somewhere else, anywhere else. Somewhere bright and open with the sunlight on his face and wind in his hair. He tried to imagine away the layers of rock over his head and the musty smell of mildew and the metallic tang of lyrium veins in the stone. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as he walked and he focused on his breathing, feeling panic close like a vise around his chest and preventing him from ever getting a deep enough breath.

“Blondie? You okay?”

Anders stopped, hands clenching again as he tried to summon a smile. Turning toward the dwarf who was the reason he was here in the first place, he nodded. “I’m fine.”

Varric’s eyes narrowed and Anders knew he had seen through the lie. “I thought it was about time to pull out the good stuff,” he said, lifting a bottle of amber liquid. He had a pair of metal cups in his other hand. “Want a drink?”

Justice grumbled a bit. The spirit hated the way Anders’ mind got cloudy after drinking, but Anders ignored him, thinking of how wonderful it would be to stop thinking for a while. “Sure.”

They settled down on the rock near Anders’ pack, far enough from the rest of the camp that the noise was muffled by echoes. Hawke and Bethany were eating dinner near the fire and Hawke was laughing with one of the dwarves as if they were on a family camping trip instead of traveling forsaken roads through the earth. He didn’t understand how they all managed it. Anders hadn’t had much of an appetite for days and the constant activity and noise was not helping his claustrophobia, so he had retreated to a quiet corner of the cavern as soon as they made camp. 

“And here you are,” Varric said, handing him a cup that was filled almost to the brim. “Picked this up in Hightown a few years back and I’ve been dying to give it a try.”

Anders sniffed at the cup, trying to figure out what kind of alcohol it was but decided he didn’t care as long as it did the job. He drained the cup in a series of burning swallows, enjoying the way the heat instantly relaxed the tension in his shoulders and numbed some of the irrational fear in his chest to a dull ache.

Laughing, Varric shook his head. “Hey, I told you this was the good stuff. It’s for sipping, Blondie, not for drinking.”

Wiping his mouth and coughing a little, Anders turned to look at him and noticed the worry buried behind the humor in Varric’s warm eyes. He had been too preoccupied to see it before, but he realized now that Varric had sought him out on purpose. He must not have been doing as good of a job hiding his mental state as he had hoped. Of course, Varric was a hard man to hide from. 

“Sorry,” he said, putting the cup down on the rock beside him. “But it tasted good regardless.”

Varric filled up the cup again. “Hm. Sip it this time and tell me what you think.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Varric?”

The twinkle in Varric’s eyes and the smirk on his lips said it all. Varric really was a handsome man. Dwarf. Whatever. Anders had met a few dwarves in his travels, but none of them had inspired the twisting ache he felt deep in his gut whenever Varric looked at him like that. Anders knew he was an easy mark and that he shouldn’t read anything into Varric’s kind gestures or coy looks, but he was also lonelier than he had ever been and didn’t think it could hurt to bask in Varric’s attention when it was so freely offered.

Anders sipped at the drink and rolled the alcohol around in his mouth to savor it before swallowing. “That is good. What is it?”

Varric rattled off the make and vintage and a few other details besides, but Anders wasn’t really listening to the words, just the sound of Varric’s intoxicating voice, as warm and sparkling as the whiskey on Anders’ tongue. Leaning back against the rock behind him and closing his eyes, Anders found it easier now to imagine he was somewhere else, wrapped in the comfort of the alcohol and Varric’s soothing voice. 

“Am I putting you to sleep, Blondie?”

That nickname still brought a smile to Anders’ lips when he stopped to think about it. The color of his hair was a ridiculous attribute to latch onto when he had so many other more distinguishing characteristics, but he appreciated the fact that it was the one Varric had chosen for his moniker. Fenris called him “mage” with a sourness in the word as if it were an accusation and his very nature made him wrong. And Anders had been called much worse than that over the years, but never had someone called him something so silly and fond as the name Varric used for him almost without fail.

“I’m not asleep yet,” Anders said, but the drowsiness in his voice didn’t do much to refute Varric’s accusation. 

“But you’re more relaxed at least. You really hate the Deep Roads, don’t you?”

Anders nodded.

“Why did you come along?”

Taking another sip of his drink to hide any reactions he might not be able to control, Anders swallowed and took a deep breath. “Hawke can be persuasive.” Hazarding a glance at Varric, he saw that knowing look in his eyes again and knew that he wasn’t buying it.

“Well, we should be getting close now. We’ll be back on the surface before you know it.”

Anders nodded again, but didn’t know what to say. It had taken a week for them to get this far and it would take at least that to get out again.

“You ever need another drink, you know where to find me.”

Shifting to look at him, Anders watched as Varric stood up and brushed dirt off his pants, wanting desperately to keep his attention a little longer. But he had no illusions about his own significance in Varric’s eyes. Varric had a lot of friends to attend. “Varric,” he said, finishing off the whiskey and offering up his empty cup. “Thanks.”

Varric’s calloused fingers brushed against Anders’ when he took the cup. Lips hitched up on one side in another smirk, he said, “Anytime, Blondie.”

Watching him walk away with an ache in his chest, Anders let his head fall back against the stone wall and tried to hold on to this feeling for as long as he could. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually the first chapter of this story that I wrote. While there are several interesting quests in the first act, most of them are more about establishing the characters and setting than about Anders' story in particular. I'd planned on skipping right to the end of the first act but then I realized that it would be better to touch on a few key points that related to the Wrong Man (which is why I went back and wrote the last couple chapters). I'd also been planning on writing the whole story from Anders' point of view, but it's also nice to get other characters' perspective on him too. I'm curious what you think. Is there anything you'd been hoping I would cover in the first act that I skipped?


	4. Trapped

Anders was worried about Bethany. To be honest, he was worried about all of them after Bartrand had trapped them in the Deep Roads, but Bethany was his immediate concern. Varric was a close second.

Bethany had been looking under the weather for a while now. He suspected the cause but didn’t want to say anything since he knew there was not much he could do even if his suspicions were true. The only thing he could think of was to guide them toward the part of the Deep Roads where he thought the wardens would be. He didn’t actually want to run into them unless they had no other choice, but he felt better knowing the option was there just in case.

But he didn’t know what to do about Varric. 

The Tethras brothers were not close and it was obvious from the start that Varric was the peacemaker in the family while Bartrand was the headstrong firstborn who always did things his own way. Anders had not grown up with siblings so he knew he wasn’t a good judge, but he hadn’t expected even someone as selfish as Bartrand to betray his own brother and leave him for dead. Judging by Varric’s reaction, he hadn’t seen it coming either, and in spite of his colorful threats and wry jokes, Varric was not taking the betrayal well. His mood had outwardly improved after they found the treasure in the old thaig, but Anders had noticed him brooding whenever he thought no one was paying attention.

Anders took stock of their supplies while they rested and found them more lacking than he would have liked. But they had to keep their strength up. He had already identified a few sources of food in the caves as they walked, mushrooms and rodents that he knew from his time with the Wardens would be nutritious enough to keep them going when the rations ran out. And they would certainly run out before they reached the surface. Now that everything had gone to hell he was realizing how good it was that he had decided to come along since he knew far more about surviving in the Deep Roads than the others did.

Sighing, he took three portions of field rations and returned to where Bethany and Hawke were setting up camp. Varric must have wandered off somewhere. Handing Hawke a ration, he scanned the cavern around them for the dwarf and was so intent on his search that he jumped when Hawke spoke.

“Thanks, Anders. You’re eating some too, right?”

He glanced at her and quickly away again, hoping to hide the fact that he had been eating only half rations for a few days now. “I’ll eat. Don’t worry.”

“Be sure you do. We aren’t going to get very far without our guide.”

Anders shook his head. “I’m as lost as the rest of you.”

“But you have a sense for this place,” Hawke replied, smiling at him as she bit off a corner of the hardtack. “And more experience with it than the rest of us combined.” She brushed a hand over his arm, and the touch was more familiar than it had any right to be. “You’re looking especially gaunt these days, Anders.” The look in her eyes was worried now.

He managed a laugh. “That’s because of the lack of sunshine and fresh air. I’m wilting in all the darkness.”

She grinned. “Aw, my poor flower mage. We’ll get you out in the sun again soon.” 

Encouraged by her indomitable spirit, he felt a more natural smile curve his lips in response. “Have you seen Varric?”

Her expression faltered. “I think he’s back at the cliff we passed on our way. I saw him lingering there earlier.”

“Marian, do you know where we packed the blankets?” Bethany asked with a shiver and Hawke wandered off to search through their supplies. 

Bethany looked more wan than before, and Anders brushed a hand over her wrist to gauge her temperature as he handed her another ration. Pressing a hand against her forehead, he used a little healing magic to reduce her fever, but he was fairly certain it wouldn’t be enough. Unless he was imagining it, he thought he was starting to feel the faintest hint of the Blight in her. But it was hard to distinguish the feeling from the omnipresent sense of darkspawn he’d felt distantly since entering the Deep Roads. She looked up at him gratefully when he released her and took the food with a frown. He would have stayed to keep watch on her, but he could trust that Hawke would make sure Bethany ate.

It was a bad idea to stray too far from the rest of their group, but luckily the cliff Hawke had mentioned was not far. Anders paused as soon as he saw Varric sitting on the edge, his shoulders slumped as he stared down into the darkness. Approaching quietly so as not to startle him, Anders stopped at the edge of the cliff and took a deep breath, liking this place better than the cavern where they had decided to camp. The cave opened up above and below them far enough that he could pretend that it was just a dark night sky above instead of layers of rock and the darkness below was the sea. 

Varric was so preoccupied that he didn’t react to Anders’ presence until he crouched down beside him. “You should eat,” Anders said, holding out the ration.

Flinching as if Anders really had snuck up on him, Varric straightened and rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw as he looked up at Anders. “Thanks, Blondie.” He looked exhausted and Anders wondered if he had slept much at all since Bartrand’s betrayal.

Anders’ worry made him hesitate, but then he stood up again and turned to go. As someone who needed personal space from time to time in spite of his gregarious nature, Anders didn’t want to encroach on Varric’s space if he wanted to be alone.

But Varric reached out to grasp Anders’ boot before he walked away. “Stay a while?”

Relieved to be asked to stay, Anders settled down beside him, letting his legs dangle off the edge of the cliff and leaning back on his hands. 

Munching at the tasteless food, Varric gave him a look. “You eat already?”

Anders nodded and looked away, studying the cave formations. They really were quite beautiful. As long as he focused on the details of the place he could forget how oppressive it was.

“I don’t believe you.” Breaking off part of the ration, Varric tapped Anders on the arm and gestured at him to take it. “I’m not all that hungry anyway.”

Anders made the mistake of looking at the food, his traitorous stomach growling as soon as he saw it, but Varric was grinning when he looked up so Anders decided his embarrassment was worth it. Surprised how good the dry, mealy ration tasted once he started eating, Anders was soon licking the crumbs from his fingers. Varric tapped his arm again, another piece in his fingers and Anders gratefully took it.

“For a healer, you’re shit at taking care of yourself.”

Shrugging, Anders finished eating and leaned back again. “I’m pretty good at surviving in spite of that.”

“I guess that’s true.”

Anders swallowed, glancing at Varric and trying to decide if the dwarf was in a good enough place to hear about his concerns about Bethany or if he should keep them to himself. Then again, Varric was a natural caretaker and probably wouldn’t mind having the distraction of worrying over someone else.

“Spit it out, Blondie,” Varric said, making his decision for him. “I can hear you thinking from over here.”

“Something is wrong with Bethany.”

Varric brushed the crumbs off his knees and leaned forward to get a better look at Anders’ face. “What?” The fact that he had missed the obvious only proved how distracted he’d been by what happened with Bartrand.

“She’s been slower for a while now, dragging along behind us when we walk and running out of mana quickly in a fight. When I checked her earlier, she was running a fever.”

“Shit. Do you think it was those deep mushrooms we ate earlier? I know you said they weren’t poisonous, but they made me queasy as hell.”

Frowning, Anders shook his head. “I think…” He hesitated, afraid to say the words for fear that he might be tempting fate by saying it out loud. “I think it might be the Blight. We fought a lot of darkspawn in that tunnel a ways back. And she had a cut on her arm that she claimed was just a scrape from falling, but I know the signs.”

“Are you serious?”

Anders shifted to meet his eyes, and he could see that the fog that had been hanging over Varric had finally lifted for the first time in days, an urgency in his expression now. 

“Does Hawke know?”

“I think she’s noticed Bethany isn’t feeling well, but I don’t think she has any idea why. And I could be wrong. I hope I’m wrong.”

“What do we do if you’re right?” 

Before Anders could reply, Hawke’s voice rang out in the cave with a shrill, panicked edge. “Anders! Come quickly. It’s Bethany. She just collapsed.”

“Shit,” Varric said again and they were both scrambling to their feet. 


	5. Panic

“How long have you known what was happening?” Hawke demanded, her hand fisted in the front of Anders’ shirt, rage and fear twisting her pretty features into a gruesome visage.

“Let him go, Hawke,” Varric said, yanking on her arm. “This isn’t his fault and he might be the only one who can do anything about it.”

Releasing him reluctantly, Hawke returned her attention to Bethany who was still lying unconscious and pale on the ground. “You have to save her, Anders. I swear, if I lose her in this abysmal place–”

“I can’t heal the Blight,” Anders said sadly, “but there might be another option. We can find the Grey Wardens, the ones I stole the maps from.”

Brows furrowing, she asked, “And they can heal her?”

Wincing, Anders looked away. “After a fashion. But there’s a price. She would have to become one of them.”

“A Grey Warden. My sister.” Hawke shook her head vehemently. “I can’t even imagine it.” 

“There’s no other way to defeat the Blight.”

She considered this silently for a moment. Looking back at him, she said, “But you’re not a warden anymore. So maybe…”

“You think I got away?” Anders laughed bitterly. “I may have escaped their rule, but you can’t stop being a warden. And one day that fact will catch up with me.”

“You don’t make it sound very appealing.”

Anders sighed. “I don’t want to give you false hope.”

“Sunshine doesn’t have a lot of options otherwise, Hawke.” Varric knelt down over Bethany and pushed a damp tendril of hair out of her face. “You have to give her the choice.”

“And we’re running out of time.”

Growling in frustration, Hawke kicked a stone off into the darkness and stomped away a few steps. 

Varric looked up at Anders while she fumed. “What’s going to happen if we meet up with these wardens, Blondie?” he asked softly. “They’re going to want you back, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know.” Anders hadn’t actually thought that far ahead, but he decided it didn’t matter. He was good at running away. And he didn’t think they would be a danger to him.

“How far away are the wardens?” Hawke asked, returning to them with hands clenched at her sides as if she wanted to punch something–or someone. 

“Not far. When I guessed what was happening… I intentionally steered us in their direction.”

Hawke shook her head at him, jaw set with anger. Looking down at Bethany, she asked, “Can you wake her? She will need to make this choice herself.”

Anders managed to rouse Bethany long enough for the two sisters to talk. Bethany hated the idea of becoming a warden, but she was scared enough by her condition to take the option seriously. She had seen Aveline’s husband dying because of the Blight on their flight from Ferelden, so she knew what was at stake. Finally, she agreed to meet with the wardens and they started moving, leaving their camp behind. They could come back for their supplies once Bethany was safe.

When Anders saw more darkspawn crawling out of the cracks in the cavern ahead, he stepped in front of Varric. “Stay back,” he instructed, “both of you. They can’t give me the Blight and I don’t want to lose anyone else to it.” 

“Those things can still kill you, Blondie,” Varric muttered, pulling Bianca off his back and firing into the mass of darkspawn to keep them from getting close. 

Hawke was occupied with carrying Bethany and in spite of the damage Anders and Varric were both doing, they were quickly getting overrun. Luckily the wardens were even closer than Anders had expected and they showed up just in time to finish the fight.

Stroud seemed none too pleased to see him even though he’d apparently thought him dead. They’d never been friends, really. The only friends Anders still had with the wardens were now either dead or far away. But Stroud was a decent man, and he listened to Anders’ plea on Bethany’s behalf and allowed himself to be persuaded even though he didn’t care much for Anders himself. 

“I don’t want to become a Grey Warden,” Bethany whispered, giving Hawke a pleading look that broke Anders’ heart.

“I know,” Hawke replied. “But if this is the only way you can live, Beth…”

Bethany nodded, tears rolling down her face. “Take care of mother.”

Looking away from their tragic parting, Anders hugged his arms to himself and tried to catch his breath. He didn’t know if it was the emotional toll of racing to find help before it was too late, the shock of learning that the wardens had been happier thinking he was dead or if it was just the days trapped underground catching up with him, but he was feeling the walls closing in on him again. Black spots ate away at his vision, but he managed to calm his pulse before the dizziness took over completely. Justice was completely silent in his mind as if he had decided to retreat at the first sign of the wardens.

Hawke was furious that the wardens wouldn’t let her accompany them to the surface, but Anders wasn’t surprised. Grey Wardens guarded the secrets of their order closely and they wouldn’t let any outsiders witness the Joining. Anders was just relieved that they had no interest in bringing him back with them. After she ranted and raved for a bit to blow off steam, Varric coaxed Hawke back to their camp and Anders followed at a distance, feeling exhausted. 

When he rejoined them, Varric was feeding Hawke the same whiskey he’d given Anders the night he’d been struggling. Anders considered joining them by the fire, but this attack felt different than the last one, more fragile, and even the thought of adding anything to his roiling stomach at the moment made him feel like he was going to be sick. Finding a quiet spot out of sight of the two of them, he crouched down into a ball on the ground and tucked his head against his knees, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs as he tried desperately to calm his heart. It wasn’t racing as much as it was pounding loudly, forcefully like it was trying to break free from his chest, and he could feel the beat in every part of his body, a painful drumbeat he couldn’t escape. Not that he wanted to escape it. That would be bad, but he simply wanted to be able to ignore it for a while, to feel like he wasn’t on the verge of a heart attack at every moment.

“Blondie?” Varric’s voice sounded far away, but when his hand landed on Anders’ back immediately after his question Anders realized that it was just that it was hard to hear him over the roar in his ears.

“I’m–I’m okay,” Anders gasped, but obviously he wasn’t. “Hawke–needs you–more–right now.”

“Hawke’s asleep,” Varric said, kneeling down beside him. “What’s happening?”

“Panic–attack.”

“What do I do?”

Anders didn’t know how to answer that, and the pounding in his chest was getting faster. This wasn’t good. His vision was starting to swim again, so he squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his grip on his calves.

“Blondie.” Varric’s voice was even further away now, but his hands were close, stroking over Anders’ shoulders, his neck, his hair. In another circumstance, Anders, touch-starved as he was, would have been in heaven, but he could barely register the contact as it was. “Anders,” Varric said more firmly, and his mouth was right next to Anders’ ear. Anders could feel his breath on his skin and weirdly that was the thing that finally grounded him. 

Shivering, he released his grip on his own legs and reached out for Varric, his hands landing on muscular thighs, and then he felt Varric wrapping arms around his back and pulling him close. He was so warm, so solid and safe, and Anders moaned with relief as he felt the waves of panic finally subsiding.

“Is this helping?” Varric asked a little desperately.

Finally finding his voice again, Anders clutched at Varric and whispered hoarsely, “Yes.” Somehow Anders had ended up mostly in Varric’s lap, his arms wrapped around the dwarf’s waist, while Varric held him close with a hand on the back of his head. He never wanted to be anywhere else.

“Andraste’s tits, what a day. I was so focused on Hawke I didn’t even realize you’d wandered off until I heard you gasping over here. I thought…” The hand on his neck stroked down his spine and it was so wonderful that Anders nearly whimpered, but he managed to contain himself. Barely. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought.” Varric pulled back to get a look at his face and Anders tried to hide how mournful he was about letting him go. “You look about as pale as Bethany did.”

“Sorry,” Anders managed to say, feeling sore all over as if he’d just run across Kirkwall and back. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“So...you’re better now?” 

Anders nodded and swallowed past the dryness of his throat. “Thank you.”

Pulling away entirely and clearing his throat like he was uncomfortable with the intimacy they had just shared, Varric sat back on his heels and rubbed absently at his knees where Anders had first touched him. Sucking at his teeth, he said, “Not sure what I did that helped, but I’m glad it did.”

“Me too.”

“You look like you’re about to keel over, Blondie. You sure you’re okay?”

“Just tired. I’ll be fine.”

Varric nodded, not looking very reassured. “Come back to the fire. I’ll keep watch while you rest.”

Anders didn’t have the energy to argue, but he wasn’t sure he actually wanted to move just yet. Still, he understood that Varric was intending to keep watch over him and Hawke as much as he was keeping an eye out for trouble, so he didn’t protest. Varric helped him to his feet and he followed him shakily back to the fire. As soon as he was within sight of the crackling flames, he collapsed to the ground and curled up into a ball. He was asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes, but he was aware long enough to feel Varric push a bedroll beneath his head and cover him with a blanket.

“Sleep tight, Blondie,” he murmured, and Anders might have been dreaming at that point, but he thought he felt a press of lips against his temple.


	6. Three years later

Time passed quickly and things changed slowly, little by little, one fraction at a time. Hawke moved up in the world, bought an estate in Hightown and made friends in high places while Anders sunk lower into the tunnels and hidden places beneath the city. The templars grew bolder by the day and so did Anders, taking risks he never would have dreamed of taking when he first arrived in the city, a mage apostate in search of a former lover who had spent his whole life running away. Now he was more than that. He was helping people in his clinic and through his work with the underground resistance, and he knew he could only get away with it because he also had friends in high places–at least higher than his place. His association with Hawke earned him wariness from those who might otherwise think him an easy target, and Varric’s bribes continued to keep him safe in Darktown.

He would have said that he was doing well if it weren’t for Justice. The spirit’s impatience wore on him day by day, and Justice’s constant demands for more undermined any satisfaction he might have felt at the things he had managed to accomplish. But they were getting by and he was keeping Justice pacified for the most part. He had even managed to convince the spirit to let him take a break tonight. Everyone had gathered at the Hanged Man for a round of drinks to celebrate after Aveline revealed that she and Donnic had finally figured out how to actually court each other. Everyone in their group had gotten sucked into one ridiculous attempt or another, so they were all equally relieved.

“And then,” Hawke said, mimicking Aveline’s stoic tone as she continued, “she said, ‘We need three goats and a sheaf of wheat. Take them to his mother and maybe it will help smooth the process.’ As if Aveline even knows the definition of smooth!” Hawke cackled, and the others laughed along with her. 

She pounded the table so hard that Anders’ ale jittered over the surface with the impact. Catching the handle, Anders licked the foam off the side and took a sip. He rarely drank much at these gatherings, but he’d been swept up by the jovial atmosphere and decided to indulge. While the Hanged Man didn’t serve the best ale in town, this was the first drink he’d had in a while–a few years if he stopped to think about it. Regardless, he intended to savor every drop, especially since he didn’t have enough coin on hand to buy another. 

Still licking his lips as he straightened, he discovered that Isabela had been watching him, heat in her eyes as she focused on his mouth and licked her own lips reflexively. Such eager attention from her wasn’t exactly new. She’d been trying to get into his pants ever since she remembered their encounter at the Pearl in Denerim years before. Justice was probably the only reason Anders hadn’t indulged in the diversion, the spirit keeping him from anything that might be a little bit fun, as usual. Even so, Anders had healed away the consequences of Isabela’s exploits enough times that he felt as if there was very little mystery left where she was concerned.

“I hope Aveline’s having a good time tonight,” Varric sighed, lifting his mug in a salute to the absent guard captain. “She deserves it after the awkward spectacle she put us all through.”

“Are you kidding?” Anders laughed. “As long and bumbling as this romance has been, I doubt they’ll figure out how to get each other undressed for another week at least.”

Hawke laughed again, harder than anyone else, but she had also consumed twice as much ale as anyone else. Her hand landed on Anders’ shoulder this time instead of the table, and the impact stung a bit before she softened her touch, dragging fingers over his shoulder blade and lingering at the small of his back. The more Hawke drank, the more she liked to touch. Anders knew this about her, knew the touches were nothing more than drunken groping, but the contact still felt nice. 

Leaning against him, she said, “I bet they don’t figure out how to make everything work until the end of the year. Any takers on that one?”

“Not a chance,” Fenris said, still glowering in spite of everyone else’s good cheer. “Aveline has been married before, after all.”

“I actually have a theory about Lady Man-hands that I’d like to test out,” Isabela drawled. 

“And what’s that, Rivaini?” Varric asked, adding under his breath, “he asked knowing he would regret hearing the answer.”

“You’re narrating again, Varric,” Anders said with a smile, and the comment earned him an echoing grin from the dwarf and a fond look that made Anders ache all over again for things he couldn’t have.

Ignoring them both, Isabela leaned forward over the table in a sprawl that Anders was fairly certain was intended to put her assets on full display. “So, we all know talking isn’t Aveline’s strength, but she excels at taking action, right? Put that in the context of romance, and I think we can all imagine who will be deflowering whom in that bedroom.”

Varric groaned. “I knew I didn’t want to know.”

“I mean, just think about it. Donnic is so submissive it’s almost adorable and Aveline could wrangle a dragon into submission with nothing but a stern look.”

“I actually don’t want to think about it,” Fenris said mournfully.

“For once I agree with Fenris,” Anders admitted, shuddering a bit at the vivid images Isabela’s description inspired. He had no desire to picture Aveline in this way.

“Yeah, a dragon,” Merrill said with a little giggle, trying and failing to keep up.

Isabela cackled and Hawke echoed her laugh after finishing off her ale, although Anders wasn’t sure if she was coherent enough at this point to follow the conversation any better than Merrill. What he was sure of was that Hawke’s hand had drifted around his hip, her fingers tracing his pelvic bone through the thin cloth of his breeches. He’d tossed his coat over the chair behind him and was suddenly regretting the decision.

Varric gave Hawke a look as if he knew what she was getting up to even though the table blocked her groping hand, and he seemed to decide that it was time to call it a night before Hawke embarrassed herself even more than Aveline had. “As fun as all this has been,” he said finishing off his own drink, “I’m exhausted from all the matchmaking and I have a painfully early meeting with the merchants guild in the morning.”

“Sometimes I really hate that you’re so responsible, Varric,” Isabela sighed. “Why aren’t you an aimless layabout like the rest of us?”

Varric laughed. “I don’t work especially hard. But pissing off the guild wouldn’t do anyone any good.”

“Someone ought to take Hawke home,” Fenris said suddenly, standing up with only a little wobble and clearly volunteering himself for the job. His gaze seared into Hawke hungrily and the look made Anders want to gloat that for once Hawke’s flirtation was focused on him instead of the moody elf.

“Anders will take me home,” Hawke said, tightening her arm around his waist.

Anders felt several pairs of eyes focus on him, Fenris’ filled with rage, Isabela’s with lust, Merrill’s with curiosity and Varric’s… Anders made the mistake of actually meeting the dwarf’s eyes and was unsettled by the worry he saw there. What was Varric so worried about? Hawke making a mistake with him or him taking advantage of her? Doing his best to ignore all the attention, he reached for his coat and managed to pull it across his shoulders without completely dislodging Hawke. She slotted perfectly against his side as he stood up, her body warm and pliant against his, and he was grateful that Justice was temporarily muted by the alcohol so he didn’t have to deal with the spirit’s usual griping. The freedom to choose what he wanted even if it was a horrible idea was exhilarating.

Isabela leered at him as they walked past her. “I wish somebody would take me home…” 

“You are home, Rivaini,” Varric said, and it was probably Anders’ imagination, but he sounded a bit on edge.

“But there are all those stairs to climb…and my bed is so cold.”

Anders smiled as they exited the tavern onto the surprisingly quiet streets of Lowtown. They managed to avoid any bandits on their journey, but Anders took his time, knowing he was dragging his feet because it felt so nice to be close to someone for once and deep down he knew he couldn’t in good conscience indulge Hawke’s interest when she was in such a state. So they meandered slowly and Hawke babbled about this and that, none of the words connecting with him in the way that her drifting hands did.

But Anders didn’t know his way around Hightown and the night was cool enough to make him chill in spite of both his coat and Hawke’s body heat. “Hawke,” he said softly, trying to get her attention. “I’ve only been to your estate once and you know I get turned around in Hightown. Which way? Left or right?”

She hugged him closer. “You smell so good,” she sighed. “How is that even possible when you practically live in the sewers?” Humming, she nuzzled against his chest. “But you smell like elfroot and sage...and you...” The last word was more of a groan than a coherent thought.

He laughed and the sound was a bit raw even to his ears. As lovely as it was to get swept away by the fantasy that Hawke actually wanted him, he knew she would have been arguing with him by now about mage’s rights if she had been sober. Picking a direction at random, he led her awkwardly down the street and was relieved to finally see the familiar recessed doorway and the crest of her family. 

Seeing their destination, she pulled away a bit to look up at him, her hands still latched to his coat. “Come home with me,” she murmured.

“I’m taking you home right now. That’s literally what we’re doing.”

“No,” she said, pulling him to a stop beside the front door of her estate, a childish pout on her lips. “Come home with me and stay.”

“Hawke…” Looking away from the desire pooling in her eyes, he reached down to disentangle her hands from his clothes. “We shouldn’t.”

But Hawke was strong and she had other ideas. Maneuvering him against the wall, she pressed her body against his and he was too stunned by how wonderful it felt after so long alone that he let her do it. Isabela’s speculation about Aveline suddenly came to mind and he wondered if Hawke liked to be every bit as dominant in the bedroom. The thought sent a frisson of want shivering through him and he knew he would be in trouble if he didn’t get the better of his desires soon.

“Why not?” Hawke demanded, rocking her hips against his in an unfairly distracting way. “Don’t you want me?”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, gathering his resolve. “Wanting isn’t the problem,” he assured her, pushing her back a step and stepping out from between her and the building.

“Then what is?”

Anders sighed. “You’re drunk.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is that the only reason? I mean, it isn’t that you already have someone else in mind, is it?”

That question caught him off guard and was far too coherent for her current state. She didn’t even slur any of the words. He thought of Isabela and her constant flirting, but for some reason the look in Hawke’s eyes made him uneasy, as if she had seen something he hadn’t wanted her to see.

“Varric isn’t into humans, you know? He said as much to me when I tried to pet his chest once. He’s turned Isabela down a few times too.”

Anders went still and quiet, shocked that she had noticed his interest in their friend and wondering who else had noticed if someone as self-absorbed as Hawke had seen it. Had Varric noticed? Varric missed very little.

“And you just know his crossbow is probably named after a real woman,” she continued, oblivious to his worries. “He has a tragic love story with her, no doubt.”

Mouth dry, Anders swallowed and asked, “What makes you think I…”

“Everything about the way you look at him. It’s enough to make a girl jealous.”

Anders considered staying with her just to prove her wrong about Varric, but he knew that was exactly why she was telling him this and he wasn’t that desperate. “I should go,” he said, backing away from her with reluctance. “And you should drink some water before you go to bed. It will help with the hangover you’re likely to have in the morning.”

Pouting again and crossing her arms beneath her breasts, she said, “If my healer was willing to make house calls I wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

He turned his back on her then to avoid her heated gaze. “Goodnight, Hawke.”

But as he walked away, he heard her mutter, “I guess I should have had Fenris take me home instead.” And while he couldn’t be sure, it seemed like she had intentionally said it loud enough so he would hear. He flinched when he heard the front door slam behind her.


	7. The Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you, but I needed a little Isabela POV to brighten my day!

Isabela looked up from her drink and inspected the crew Hawke had pulled together for whatever little job she had signed up for this time: Varric and some handsome bloke with the most stunning blue eyes she’d ever seen. But the new guy was also wearing pure white armor complete with a rather disturbing face leering from his belt. Looking closer at his belt buckle she realized why it looked so familiar. It was a face she could easily recognize even though she hadn’t stepped foot inside a Chantry in years.

Grimacing and taking another drink, she asked, “So, no Anders then?”

“I didn’t think you liked Anders all that much,” Hawke noted, crossing her arms over her chest and shifting her weight to one hip in a move that was probably supposed to be intimidating but only made Isabela focus on her breasts. Too bad the woman was always wearing the heaviest armor she could find and hiding away all the best bits. Not that Hawke had shown much interest in her anyway. Hawke seemed much more interested in the lads, including Anders, which was why Isabela was surprised to find the mage absent from their group. 

“I don’t like the stick in the mud sharing his body,” Isabela replied with a shrug, “but Anders himself isn’t so bad. And he’s good with magic. At healing...among other things.”

“Would you stop bringing that up?” Varric groaned with a shake of his head.

Laughing, Isabela stood up. “I only keep mentioning it because you react every time. Do you know that when you blush it goes all the way down?” She traced a finger through the air to illustrate.

Varric shifted uncomfortably, attempting to pull his tunic closed with a gloved hand and she laughed.

“What exactly are we talking about?” Pure and Gorgeous said in the most delicious accent, and Isabela almost cooed in response. 

“You don’t want to know, Choir Boy.”

But Hawke gave the man a wicked grin. “Apparently, Anders has an electricity trick that’s made him famous in brothels far and wide.” That was a bit generous. As far as Isabela knew it was just the one, but she supposed it had been impressive enough that it was worth the hyperbole.

“Hawke!” Varric protested.

Laughing, Hawke patted Varric on the shoulder. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. And look! Sebastian is blushing even more than you are!”

Sebastian’s expression darkened. “I’m not sure if I want to meet this Anders...”

“Then you definitely don’t want to meet me.” Isabela gave a sarcastic little bow. 

“Oh right, introductions,” Hawke said absentmindedly. “Isabela, meet Sebastian, Prince of Starkhaven. Sebastian, This is Isabela, a pirate without a ship.”

“A Prince,” Isabela repeated, a little impressed.

“Don’t get all excited, Rivaini,” Varric muttered. “He’s also a Chantry brother, and probably the dullest person I’ve ever met. Not even the tragic death of his whole family is enough to make him worth a passing mention.”

Hawke started leading them all to the door of the Hanged Man. “A passing mention in what? Are you writing another book about us, Varric?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

It turned out that the job Hawke had signed them up for was actually one that Sebastian had requested. He was investigating a noble family in Kirkwall to find out why they had attacked his family. In spite of his knockout looks, Isabela was quickly finding that Sebastian was every bit as dry and boring as Varric had said and even the temptation to corrupt a Chantry brother wasn’t enough to keep her intrigued. Luckily, the Harimanns were interesting enough on their own. The whole family seemed to have lost their minds to gluttony, lust and cruelty, and Isabela was having fun guessing what kind of bizarre tableau they would walk into next.

Halfway through the ruins hidden under the house Isabela started to miss Anders again. The ruins were full of lesser demons that would have been easier to defeat with a mage at their side, and they were all bleeding in more than a few places by the time they finally found the lady of the house consorting with a Desire demon. But Isabela was quickly distracted from her injuries by the demon itself. She’d never met one in person before, and now that she had gotten a good look at it she was finally understanding what all the fuss was about. 

“Sebastian?” Lady Harimann gasped suddenly, drawing Isabela’s attention back to her. 

Sebastian’s features were twisted with righteous rage. “You were my mother’s friend. How could you murder her?” Turning to the demon with revulsion twisting his features, Sebastian accused, “This was your idea, wasn’t it?”

“I could create such desires if I wished,” the demon replied in a hypnotic voice. “But it’s far easier to nurture those that already exist. The desire for power is easy to find. You and your friend both possess it, do you not?” Her beguiling eyes gave both Hawke and Sebastian significant looks. “You both wish to rise.”

Isabela snickered, thinking that something else would certainly have been rising by now if Sebastian hadn’t had an image of Andraste on his belt guarding his chastity. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the demon and Isabela didn’t need any help identifying lust in a man’s gaze. She glanced at Varric to see if he had picked up on the joke, but the dwarf looked pale, a hand clutching at his side with blood trickling out between his fingers. Digging a potion out of the pouch on her belt, she pulled out the cork and tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up at her with a grateful nod and downed it, but soon they were fighting again and she lost track of him in the fray. When she caught sight of him afterward, Varric was wavering on his feet and polishing off another potion, but healing draughts could only do so much. He was still bleeding.

“Let us return to the chantry,” Sebastian said loftily, returning his bow to its place on his back. “I must pray for Lady Harimann’s soul.”

But Hawke had finally noticed Varric’s state and crouched down beside him. “Varric?”

Isabela scowled. “This is why I wanted Anders along.”

“I’ll be fine,” Varric said in a raspy voice, waving both of them away with a weary smile. 

Hawke gave Isabela an appraising look as well. “Are you okay?”

Making a quick survey of her cuts and bruises, Isabela nodded. “I’m good. I can walk Varric down to Anders’ clinic if you two are headed to the chantry.”

Hawke seemed relieved. “Would you? Thanks, Bela.”

Arching a brow, Isabela watched her walk away and gave Varric a look.

“Don’t look at me,” he hissed as soon as the other two were out of earshot.

“But you’re my best source for gossip! She’s obviously avoiding Anders, right?” Isabela wrapped an arm around Varric’s shoulders as she helped him toward the door. 

“I don’t know. I haven't talked to Blondie since the night he took her home. Not for lack of trying, but he’s always busy these days. And I haven’t been able to get a word out of Hawke about what happened between them either.” 

“You don’t think… I mean, it’s hard to imagine Anders being disappointing in bed unless it’s that spirit’s fault, but that’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

Grunting in pain as they began climbing the rough-hewn stairs that led back to the cellar of the house, Varric shook his head. “It’s hardly the only explanation, Rivaini.”

“And now Hawke’s so desperate that she’s out to corrupt a man of the cloth.”

Varric laughed and then winced, clutching at his side. 

“You don’t think so?”

“Hard to say. But if we’re making bets about who Hawke is going to choose, my money is still on Broody.”

Isabela considered this, picturing the handsome, enigmatic elf in her mind. “Fenris is rather nice.” Sighing deeply, she groaned. “I wish Hawke would make up her mind already so I can have a chance at the leftovers.”

Glancing up at her with an expression that was suddenly uncomfortably serious, Varric observed, “It isn’t like you to wait your turn.”

Avoiding his gaze, she shrugged. “Well, I owe Hawke, don’t I? And she’s the one who’s recruited us all, so she gets first pick.”

“You’re starting to make me feel like a slab of meat, Rivaini”

“Aw, Varric. You’re so much more than that. A fine wine, at least.” 

Grimacing in pain, he snapped, “Dammit. Would you stop making me laugh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to the party banter to prepare for writing this and realized that I'd never had Varric and Sebastian in the same party when I played the game so I had no idea how much Varric disliked him. Varric is so welcoming and curious about everyone else that it kind of cracks me up that someone like Sebastian is just too much even for him.


	8. Avoidance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the last chapter flows right into this one, I decided to post them both together. Not a particularly romantic one, but happy Valentine's day to all of you anyway!

Going through the motions of closing down the clinic after the last patient left, Anders felt like he was sleepwalking by the time he stepped outside to douse the lantern so he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard boots scrape over the ground behind him. Instantly shifting into a guarded position, Anders turned to look out into the darkness and was relieved when he saw a pair of friendly faces emerge from the gloom.

“Hey, Blondie. I know it’s late, but do you have time for one more patient?” Varric had a smear of blood on his cheek and was holding his side with a grimace, leaning heavily against Isabela who was either wearing quite a bit of his blood or had a few injuries of her own as well. 

Although Anders hated to see them in such a state, it was so nice to see them at all that he felt a smile tugging at his lips. “Of course. Come in.” He swept a hand to the open door and pulled it shut behind them after Varric had limped through. “What happened?”

Isabela helped Varric to the nearest cot and he sat down with a heavy sigh. “The usual. Shenanigans with Hawke.” 

Nodding, Anders walked over to a shelf to gather a few supplies, grateful for the opportunity to hide his face as he gathered his thoughts. “I’m surprised she didn’t come with you. Usually she hovers over injured friends like a...well, like a hawk over its eggs, I suppose.”

“Hawke’s too busy with her new friend.” Isabela’s tone implied quite a bit, and Anders felt a spark of jealousy flare inside him, followed quickly by embarrassment. He hadn’t made an effort to speak to Hawke after he’d turned down her drunken invitation, but she hadn’t made an effort to seek him out either. Part of him had been disappointed at first, but then he decided it was for the best. The two of them didn’t have much in common beyond their devotion to their individual causes, and he couldn’t see a relationship between them ending well, not when so many of their ideals conflicted so completely.

“New friend?” He turned around with an arched brow, trying to remain casual, but Isabela was already giving him a mischievous look that said he had failed.

“Oh, you know,” Isabela teased, “the gorgeous prince with the velvety brogue.”

“I don’t know, actually. I must not have had the pleasure.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “Blondie, I doubt anyone’s had the pleasure. Choir Boy is so painfully pure it burns my eyes just to look at him.”

“I don’t know about that,” Isabela said with a coy smirk. “Sebastian told me he used to be just like me, that he’d stay out all night drinking and whoring – his words, not mine. But then the Chantry saved his soul. Or whatever. I stopped listening when I realized it was a sermon.”

Anders laughed, returning to Varric’s cot with a basin of water and stack of clean towels. “Doesn’t sound like the type that Hawke typically befriends. I mean, look at all of us.”

“Speak for yourself, Blondie. Some of us are respectable businessmen and well-known authors.”

Isabela snorted and exchanged a grin with Anders.

“Yes, I imagine a lot of writers and merchants get themselves sliced to ribbons on a daily basis.” Sitting down on a chair beside the cot, Anders leaned closer and said, “Let’s see what you’ve done to yourself this time.”

Varric eased the pressure on his side so Anders could pull his tunic out of the way, shivering a little as Anders’ fingers brushed against his skin. “Didn’t do it to myself, Blondie.”

The wound was long and ragged, but Anders had seen worse before. “I suppose you had nothing to do with the decision to get in a fight, then?” Anders said as he began cleaning the cut, trying not to react to Varric’s hisses of pain while he worked.

Wincing in sympathy as Varric flinched, Isabela said, “I think I’ll skip this part.”

Anders glanced up at her. “Do you need healing before you go?”

“Nah, I’m good. Just came down here to make sure Varric made it safely.” She paused, brows drawing together as she added, “But would you try to stay on Hawke’s good side from now on? We could have used your help in that place.”

Eyes narrowing, Anders asked, “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing,” she said with a quick smile, reaching out to adjust the feathered pauldrons on his shoulders. “Just that I missed your magic touch, sweet thing.”

He was certain that was not what she had originally meant, but he didn’t think she was lying either. Brushing a hand over her arm, he used a little magic to heal a cut on her bicep in thanks and she grinned in response, her gaze warm as she caught his hand and pressed a kiss against his wrist. One thing he always appreciated about Isabela was how free she was with physical affection, even when it meant nothing at all. 

Pressing a kiss against Varric’s temple, she said, “I’m off, then,” and headed for the door. “Don’t get shivved on your way back to Lowtown, Varric.”

Laughing and then cursing under his breath as the movement strained his injury, Varric replied through gritted teeth, “You either, Rivaini.”

Returning his attention to Varric, Anders reached for the rag and wrung it out over the basin. “What did Isabela mean about Hawke? Is she angry with me?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. She hasn’t said a word about you in weeks. Not since that night…” He tilted his head to try to catch Anders’ eyes, but Anders looked away. “What happened between you two?”

“Nothing happened,” Anders said firmly, biting his lip in concentration as he teased a stubborn bit of dirt and dried blood out of the wound. Varric clenched the edge of the cot beneath him in reaction. “I walked her home. That’s all.”

“Blondie. I’m no idiot. She was groping you up one side and down the other.”

Dropping the rag back in the basin, Anders smiled tightly. “She was drunk.”

“And you were too honorable to take advantage?” The fondness in Varric’s eyes was not what Anders needed right now, not when it made something hot and needy twist in his chest.

“I have a spirit of Justice in my head. I don’t have much choice when it comes to doing the right thing.” 

“Deflect all you want, but I don’t think that’s the way it works.”

Checking that the wound was clean, Anders cast a cleansing spell over the area just to be safe and then pressed a hand against the wound. Varric gasped in surprise as he focused healing energy through his palm and stitched the skin together beneath it in one intense wave of magic. Normally he would take his time and be a bit gentler, but he was ready for this conversation to be over. When he was done, he lifted his hand to inspect his work.

“I haven’t seen you around the Hanged Man lately,” Varric said in a strained voice. “Do you even leave the clinic much these days?”

Frowning, Anders collected the dirty rags and basin and carried them over to the sink. If Varric was asking then he probably already knew the answer. He knew almost everything that happened in the city and he already had eyes on Anders for his own protection, so it would hardly be surprising if he knew what Anders had been getting up to with the mage resistance. 

Leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest, he regarded Varric calmly. “If you have something to say, then say it.”

“I worry about you, Blondie.”

As sweet as the sentiment was, it was painful to hear. Varric cared more than enough, but not in the ways Anders wished he would. “That’s kind of you, but you don’t have to worry. I’m fine.”

Varric’s eyes narrowed. “Why do I feel like you’re trying to keep me at a distance?”

“I’m just tired, Varric.”

Sighing, Varric shifted his torn tunic back into place and tried to make himself presentable enough for his walk back to the Hanged Man. Once he was adjusted, he stood up and plucked a pouch from his belt. “For your trouble,” he said, tossing the coin in Anders’ direction.

Anders caught it, but followed him to the door and grabbed his arm, lifting Varric’s hand so that he could press the purse back into his palm. “You’re a friend. You don’t need to pay me.”

“So we’re still friends, huh? Even though I haven’t seen you in weeks and you avoid me every time I drop in to say hello?”

Unsettled by the hurt in Varric’s voice, Anders shook his head. “I’m not avoiding you,” he lied. After Hawke had called him out about his feelings for Varric he had been wary of spending time alone with the dwarf, knowing it was only a matter of time before Varric noticed as well–if he hadn’t already. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he tried to come up with a half-truth that he hoped would satisfy Varric. “I’m avoiding Hawke. And you’re always with her these days.”

Varric frowned, studying Anders for long enough to make him uncomfortable. “I thought nothing happened. Why are you avoiding her?”

Combing his fingers into his hair in frustration, Anders sighed. “Because it’s...awkward.” 

“I’ll give you that. But you should know I’m not always with her. In fact, she’s going on a trip to the Wounded Coast and won’t be around. So come by tomorrow night. I want to hear more stories from your Grey Warden days.” Varric was giving him one of his killer smiles, all soft eyes and warmth, and it made Anders ache all over in want. But it didn’t mean what Anders wanted it to mean. Varric liked to tease his friends, and sometimes that teasing felt an awful lot like flirting, but none of it had gone anywhere in three years. Even so, he was a good friend and it was wrong of Anders to avoid him over something that was only in his own head.

“Okay,” Anders agreed finally. “I’ll try.”

“Good. I’m going to track you down if you don’t show.” Varric pointed a finger at him as he backed his way to the door. 

Anders nodded, smiling automatically in spite of the lingering ache in his chest. 

Pausing with his hand on the door, Varric gave him a look over his shoulder. “And be careful, will you? Sneaking into the Gallows at night is dangerous business. I’d prefer it if you brought some backup along, but if you’re going to be stubborn at least watch your back.”

Anders watched him go, a more genuine smile tugging at his lips. He heard a jingle in his pocket when he walked over to lock the door, and when he reached inside he discovered that Varric had slipped the money pouch back to him while he was distracted.


	9. Idols

Anders hadn’t been to Hightown since the night he walked Hawke home, but at least he had a better idea of how to find her estate now. Not that he had much reason to go there otherwise. Her invitation for him to meet her now was not a personal one since she’d suggested he bring his staff along and plenty of potions. Approaching the door with an anxious feeling constricting his lungs, he forced himself to take a deep breath and then knocked.

Hawke’s mother answered the door, smiling warmly at him as she ushered him inside. “It’s so good to see you,” she said. “Marian is upstairs still, but you can wait for her in the library if you’d like.”

Feeling a bit like a suitor waiting for his paramour even though that couldn’t be further from the truth, he followed Leandra awkwardly through the enormous house, trying not to gape at the high ceilings and fine furniture or the shelves lined with leather-bound books. “Is Hightown treating you well?” he asked to fill the silence.

“Very well,” she said, beaming. “You know this is my family home? It’s so strange to be living in it again after so long, but I have fond memories of this place, and I’m so grateful that Marian was able to recover it after so much was lost.”

He nodded sadly. “Have you heard from Bethany?”

“Yes, actually. We received a letter just the other day. She’s a Warden now and coping as well as can be expected, I suppose.” Eyes widening as if she had suddenly remembered his role in those tragic events, she returned her attention to him and reached out to clasp one of his hands in both of hers. “But of course I’m so very grateful for everything you did for her. I know she is too.”

Somehow he doubted that. Bethany had not been pleased to join the Wardens and sometimes he wondered if he had done the right thing by suggesting it. “I’m just glad she survived.”

Leandra nodded, but her smile was forced now. “How about you? Marian has told me all about your clinic in...Darktown, is it? How’s business?”

“You can hardly call it a business when he doesn’t charge for his services,” Hawke interrupted, appearing in the door with a wry smile, but Anders was grateful for her arrival. Leandra meant well, but he had even less in common with her than he did with Hawke.

“A charity then,” Leandra said, patting his hand. “You’re such a generous soul.”

Anders avoided her gaze. “You have so many books,” he said, pulling his hand free and wandering over to the nearest shelf. “I haven’t seen a library this big since I lived in the Circle.”

“Mother, Bodahn was asking after you earlier,” Hawke said. “Perhaps you should see what he needed?”

“Of course. It was so nice to see you again, Anders.”

He glanced back at her without meeting her eyes. “Yes. Take care.” Returning his attention to the shelf, he traced a finger over the spines until he decided to pluck a book at random and flip through it simply to have something to do.

“Sorry about that,” Hawke said, appearing at his shoulder.

“It’s no problem,” he replied, staring blankly at a page without reading any of the words.

She stepped between him and the shelf and leaned back against it, pulling the book out of his hands with a knowing smile. “I asked you to meet me here because I thought we should talk before we met up with the others.”

“Oh?” He swallowed thickly.

Hugging the book to her chest, she looked up at him with such sincerity in her blue eyes that he couldn’t look away. “I wanted to thank you for being such a gentleman that night. And apologize for putting you in that position.”

“Hawke…” he said, realizing only after saying her name that he had no idea how to finish the sentence.

“Varric told me that you thought I was angry with you. I’m sorry.” Touching her upper lip with her tongue and looking away, she sighed. “I was embarrassed, to be honest. And I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea about what?”

She pinned him with her gaze again. “Well, it’s not like you and I make the best pair, do we? And we both know that I’m not the one you really want.” Looking away, she added, “Not that I’m going to tell anyone else about that. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Anders turned away just so that he couldn’t inadvertently meet her gaze again. “Varric is a good friend,” he said, trying very hard to convince himself of his words. “And that’s all he’ll ever be. You were right about that much.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“What difference does that make?” Wandering toward the fireplace, he decided it was time to change the subject before things got even more painful, “You said we’re meeting with someone?”

She didn’t reply right away, but he resisted the urge to turn and look at her. “Yes. Varric, actually. I figured you’d want to be a part of this.”

“Part of what?”

“Varric’s had some news. Bartrand is back in town.”

That explained why she had asked him along. It had been just the three of them on that trip to the Deep Roads after all. Well, the three of them and Bethany, but she couldn’t exactly join them now.

“Yes, and Varric is prepared for the confrontation of the century. I hope you came ready for a fight.”

“That is what we usually do together,” Anders replied wryly, “so obviously.”

He felt her gaze focus on him long enough that he finally gave into the temptation to meet her eyes. Then he realized the double meaning of his words.

“I didn’t mean–”

“No, it’s okay. It’s true regardless.” Giving him another look, this one a bit sad, she added, “I don’t mean to argue with you all the time, Anders. I hope you know that.”

He nodded even though he had no idea what she meant by that. Was she apologizing or making excuses?

“We should get going,” she said, her usual air of fearless determination falling into place. “Fenris and Varric are probably already waiting for us.”

Anders tried not to visibly cringe. Of course she’d also invited the elf along. “Lead the way,” he said, hoping she hadn’t noticed his reaction.

But she seemed to be focused on the task ahead and didn’t look back as she called out a farewell to her mother and led him out into the perfectly manicured Hightown streets. Bartrand’s estate was only a few blocks away and both of their companions were waiting when they arrived, Varric trying to get a glimpse inside the house through the lock on the front door and Fenris loitering on the steps like a moody teenager.

“Are you sure this is the place, Varric?” Hawke asked as she bounded up the stairs. “Looks abandoned.”

“I don’t get it,” Varric said, straightening. “My sources saw people making deliveries here just a week ago.” 

Hawke shrugged. “Well, it’s still our best lead.”

“Hey, Blondie,” Varric said, giving Anders a distracted smile. “Glad you could make it.”

Nodding, Anders climbed the steps and ignored Fenris’ glare as he passed him. 

Things quickly went downhill from there. They found dead bodies inside, fresh ones. And just beyond that they were attacked by a group of crazed guards who were simultaneously aggressive and seemingly unaware of their surroundings. Varric’s expression darkened with every additional monstrosity, the evidence mounting that as horrible as Bartrand had been to them, he had turned into something far worse while he was away. By the time they made it to the main hall and encountered Bartrand’s steward, they had already witnessed enough horrors to make the dwarf’s revelations unsurprising. 

“Bartrand took the servants and locked himself inside the study,” the steward said in hushed tones, glancing periodically at the door on the far side of the hall, the only one they had yet to open. “No one’s come out for days, but the sounds I’ve heard…” He shuddered. “They’re dead by now. I hope.”

“What do you mean you hope they’re dead?” Varric asked incredulously, and Fenris exchanged a worried glance with Hawke. 

“Just, whoever, whatever you find in that room, Varric, give them a merciful death.” He continued to describe the ways Bartrand had been abusing his staff, forcing the guards to eat lyrium and maiming the servants in his efforts to help him hear the song that had been tormenting him ever since he touched that lyrium idol in the Deep Roads.

“Bartrand isn’t exactly a nice guy, but this doesn’t sound like my brother,” Varric muttered. Anders had never seen him so stunned, not even when Bartrand locked them in the Deep Roads.

“We need to be cautious,” Anders warned. “I warned you that the magic in that idol was wrong. Whatever it was, it has obviously influenced him, warped his mind.”

“Sounds like typical magic to me,” Fenris muttered.

Clenching his jaw, Anders bit back his retort, focusing his attention on the lost look in Varric’s eyes and deciding that arguing with Fenris wasn’t going to help their situation.

The study was every bit as gruesome as he expected, and there was no one left to save by the time they got there. Not even Bartrand. He was babbling incoherently about the song in his head and cursing about how he shouldn’t have sold the idol to some woman. That was the reason for his return to Kirkwall, Anders gathered, his hope that he could somehow get the idol back and return to his lyrium-induced bliss. 

As angry as they had all been at Bartrand, Anders couldn’t help but find him tragic now. Whatever he had done, he had suffered for it, and made others suffer as well. It was horrific but also sad. Over the years since their expedition, he and Varric had brainstormed countless ways to torture Bartrand once Varric finally tracked him down, ridiculous punishments like boiling in oil, but all those fantasies were nothing compared to the tragedy before them. When Varric yelled at Bartrand now, his voice was hollow, the reality of what his brother had become overwhelming even the things he’d done.

When it became obvious that they weren’t going to get any sense out of Bartrand, Anders touched Varric lightly on the shoulder to get his attention. “This doesn’t feel natural,” he said with quiet urgency. “His mind has been poisoned, but it’s possible I can clear it temporarily.”

Varric looked up at him, and the anguish on his features made Anders’ heart twist painfully. “Do it.”

“Varric,” Anders warned. “It won’t last. I’m sorry.”

Frowning, Varric turned back to face his brother.

Anders’ magic lit Bartrand’s crazed eyes for a moment, and when it faded his eyes were stunned rather than fervid. “Varric?” he asked in a broken voice, looking at his brother in confusion.

“I’m here.”

Realization seemed to dawn on him then, and his eyes darted around the room. “Varric! What have I done?” 

Sighing, Varric shook his head. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

Bartrand began to beg then, not for rescue but for release. He wanted Varric to end his life and stop his suffering. Anders tensed, wondering if it would have been kinder to leave Bartrand babbling and mad. How could Varric do what needed to be done after seeing a glimpse of sanity from him?

“Enough with the speeches,” Varric protested. “I’ll get you to a healer, and you’ll be fine.”

Anders touched his shoulder again. “Varric, there’s no fixing this. It’s too late.”

But Varric shrugged off his touch. “There are other healers,” Varric insisted, and his gaze was nearly as crazed as his brother’s when he added, “And to be frank, Blondie, you don’t know everything.”

That stung for no reason that made sense. Anders knew better than anyone how much he still didn’t know, but the fact that Varric didn’t trust his opinion, that he would disregard it so easily hurt. He backed away a step to resist the urge to touch him again, to try to convince him. 

“Varric,” Hawke said gently. “He’s not going to be fine. You know that.”

The sound Varric made then twisted Anders’ heart further in spite of his insult. Rubbing helplessly at his jaw, Varric paced in a small circle. “I can’t do it, Hawke. I thought I could. I thought he’d be gloating, lying on a bed of gold and commissioning painters to memorialize the instant he sealed us into the Deep Roads. But look at him. Whatever that idol was, it did worse to him than I ever could.”

“You heard Anders,” Hawke said, and Anders was shocked to hear her back him up. “He’s possessed. As long as he lives, he’s a threat to everyone around him.”

Anders couldn’t watch as Varric finally gathered his courage, hefted his crossbow and fired a bolt straight through Bartrand’s heart. He listened as Bartrand’s body landed heavily on the floor and then heard the click of Varric returning Bianca to her place on his back with a sigh. “Come on,” he said sadly. “I don’t want to look at this place anymore.”

Lingering at the back of the group, Anders was relieved when they finally emerged into the fresh air and took a moment to drink it in before he took stock of his surroundings. Varric had stopped at the top of the steps and was staring unfocused into the darkness. He looked unmoored, and Anders recognized the look on his face from when Bartrand had betrayed them in the Deep Roads. But this was so much worse.

Hawke regarded Varric with concern, but he seemed to be so lost in thought that he barely noticed her hovering by his side. “Can I walk you back to the Hanged Man?” she asked.

Stirring as if waking from a dream, Varric shook his head. “No. I... I think I’m going to stay here a bit. I need to find someone to clean this mess up.”

“Can’t that wait?”

Varric swallowed and looked away. “No. I don’t think it can.”

Hawke and Fenris exchanged a look and then she glanced up at Anders. He waved them on and leaned against the wall beside the front door, settling in to wait. 

Varric didn’t move for a long time after they were gone, and he seemed to have forgotten Anders was even there – if he’d noticed him standing behind him in the first place. Sitting down slowly on the top step, he buried his face in his hands and groaned. Anders’ fingers twitched with the desire to comfort him, but he wasn’t sure what Varric would accept at this point, and he was only sticking around to look out for his friend, not to interfere in his grief.

If Varric cried, he was utterly silent about it, only the slight quaking of his shoulders a hint that he had surrendered to such sentiment. Anders did his best not to pay too much attention regardless, lowering his gaze to his feet and trying to ignore Justice’s complaints about his idleness. When Varric had calmed again and lifted his face to stare out into the night, Anders decided to make his move. He was stiff from standing still for so long, but he tried to be quiet as he crossed the landing and paused beside Varric on the step, trying to decide if he would be welcomed if he sat down.

“Blondie,” Varric said in a rough voice without looking at him. “Sorry about what I said earlier.”

“You weren’t wrong,” Anders admitted. “I don’t know everything. I don’t even know what to do right now.”

Looking up at him with a sheepish expression, Varric patted the back of his calf. “Sit down.”

“I’m sorry, Varric,” Anders said when he was sitting beside him. “I wish that there was something more I could have done.”

“I don’t know… Maybe it was better this way. Boiling him in oil would have been such a hassle.”

Laughing a little in spite of the situation, Anders looked at Varric and saw a tired smile replacing the sorrow he’d seen on his features before. “He was obviously suffering. You spared him a lot of misery.”

“And that’s the thing. I’d wanted him to suffer for what he did.” Scrubbing at his forehead, Varric sighed. “And at the time I didn’t even know half of what he’d done or would do.”

“But he was still your brother.” Looking out at the clean streets and the neatly trimmed shrubbery without really seeing them, Anders continued, “I can’t pretend to know what that’s like. But I do know how conflicting family can be. I trusted my parents more than anything, but my father was the one who called the Templars to take me away. And yet I was so homesick that first year, longing for a family that had been too afraid of me to keep me.”

“Blondie…” Varric’s voice was gentle now, his hand landing on Anders’ arm and giving it a squeeze. 

“I didn’t tell you that for sympathy,” Anders said, studying Varric’s hand and marveling at how large it was, how he could have encircled Anders’ whole forearm with his fingers. This wasn’t the time to be noticing such things, but he’d had a traitorous mind even before he offered to share it with a spirit. Giving Varric a smile, he added, “I just hoped it might make you feel less alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Varric said with determination. “And neither are you. Family is what you make it.”

Warmth blossomed in Anders’ chest at that and he wanted nothing more than to pull Varric into a kiss–or at the very least a hug–but he knew better than to do either. One day he would get the better of these feelings, bury them so deeply that even he couldn’t find them. Settling for patting Varric’s hand instead, he said, “Then we’re definitely family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was weird going this route with the quest because I don't think I've ever had Varric kill Bartrand before. I had to look it up to see how it worked. But it makes sense for the way the story plays out later so I went with it. Still, it was kind of hard to watch and it's obvious that Varric struggles with it. Which option did you choose in the game? Am I weird that I always tried to save him?


	10. Faith and Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing Sebastian’s point of view more than I expected, especially considering I almost forgot at one point how important it is to include him in this story given what he does in the Wrong Man.

Sebastian hadn’t known Hawke long, but he’d already experienced more of the city during a few weeks in her company than he had in several years alone. Today was a day of particular note, complete with several brand new experiences. First he’d met Kirkwall’s viscount in person, a distinguished and exacting man who didn’t have patience for mistakes. Then he’d entered the Qunari compound in Lowtown for the first time and met the Arishok, a large, imposing fellow with a gruff voice who seemed to have a grudging respect for Hawke that implied she’d encountered him many times before. And now he was in the middle of a tavern brawl at the Hanged Man. Even in his wilder days he’d never participated in one of those!

While he wouldn’t typically join in such a demeaning battle for fear of casting shame on the chantry with his behavior, the cause of this fight was just. Based on the drunken guard’s slurs about “heathen oxmen,” he must know something about the attack on the qunari delegates. And they needed that information if they were going to rescue them and restore order to the city.

Finally, the guard was flat on his back and lifting his hands weakly in surrender while Hawke stood menacingly above him. “I left your teeth so you can answer me,” she said with a wicked grin.

The guard continued to make excuses but eventually he admitted who had hired him to look the other way when the qunari were kidnapped. “He’s a Templar. We met near the chantry and he said taking those qunari was serving the Maker. I swear, he even had the seal of the grand cleric!”

Sebastian’s heart sank. “He must be lying, Hawke. Grand Cleric Elthina could not possibly be involved in something like this.” 

“True is true, mate,” the guard retorted, scrambling to his feet and fleeing the room in a wavering, drunken gait.

“Lies,” Sebastian hissed after him.

Anders scoffed. “Naturally. Because no one’s ever heard of a Templar abusing his power.”

Sebastian turned to glare at the apostate, eyes narrowed. He couldn’t figure out what to make of Anders exactly, but so far he didn’t have a very high opinion of the man. According to Hawke, he was a healer and ran a free clinic to help refugees and the poorest of the city. Such selfless acts made Sebastian want to like him, but the man was so angry all the time, so self-righteous about the struggles between the mages and templars that Sebastian couldn’t even have a conversation with him without the bitter sarcasm he heard in his voice now making an appearance. 

Turning back to Hawke, he asked, “Are we really going to take the word of a drunken man about something so important, Hawke?”

Looking back and forth between him and Anders, Hawke shrugged. “We don’t have any other leads at the moment, so yes. But I’ll keep an open mind, Sebastian. Don’t worry.”

“Of course you’d keep an open mind about this,” Anders muttered.

Sebastian was tempted to reply in spite of the quiet voice in the back of his mind telling him to have patience, but the white-haired elf spoke before he could even think of a retort. Fenris seemed perpetually prepared to have an argument with Anders. “Silence, mage,” he sneered, leaning into Anders’ personal space with an intimidating glare. “You’ve made your opinion abundantly clear, as usual.”

“Fenris,” Hawke said gently, brushing a hand over his arm. “Let’s save the aggression for the bad guys, shall we?” She glanced at Anders with a frown, all the softness absent from her voice when she added, “That goes for you too.”

Anders shook his head, jaw tight with anger, but he held his tongue.

Sebastian thought they would be heading directly for the chantry then, but Hawke lingered in the Hanged Man long enough for a drink and a chat with Varric first. Both Varric and Isabela had been in the Hanged Man when the brawl broke out and joined the fight, but Sebastian was only now realizing that they both lived at the tavern. Varric invited them up to his room and they all settled around the table, Fenris lingering close by Hawke’s side. The frequent exchanges of affection between the two of them seemed to confirm that they were a couple even though they both seemed rather private about their relationship. Anders’ sour expression at every touch and significant look suggested that he was jealous – or at least annoyed – but Sebastian knew better than to ask in order to confirm which one. Eventually the mage sighed and left the room, wandering back toward the common room where Isabela was sitting at the bar. 

Torn between learning more about Hawke, Varric and Fenris or learning more about Anders and Isabela, Sebastian finally decided to follow the mage; he thought he had a fairly decent handle on the first three, but the last two were more of a mystery to him. Finding a spot close enough to hear their conversation without becoming a part of it, Sebastian sat down at a table and bowed his head to pray.

“So you’re helping the qunari, then?” Isabela asked, leaning an elbow on the bar as she looked up at Anders. 

“We’re helping the Viscount,” Anders corrected with a snarky smile. “Hawke never does anything for free.”

Nodding, Isabela took a drink of ale. “Smart girl. You should take a cue from her, sweet thing.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “So, are you ever going to tell me what that relic is you’re looking for? I know it has something to do with the qunari and now I can’t stop thinking about it.” That was interesting. Sebastian hadn’t heard anything about a relic in his time around Isabela, but perhaps it could explain why a pirate like her would be willing to spend years landlocked in a city.

“I told you,” Isabela said coyly, “I don’t know what it is. It was locked up in a box.”

“Right. The only lock in Kirkwall you never picked.”

Grinning, Isabela hooked a finger through one of the loops in his coat. “You’re even sassier than usual today. What’s going on with you?”

Shaking his head in frustration, Anders sucked a breath through his nose and let it out slowly as he looked away. “Nothing.”

“You know better than to lie to me.”

“Maybe I just don’t want to talk about it.”

She nodded knowingly. “It’s about Fenris, isn’t it? And Hawke. And the fact that he’s been staying over at her place most nights.”

“What do I care about that?” he said, but it was all too obvious how much he cared. “As far as I’m concerned, they deserve each other.”

Humming softly, she slid her hands around his waist and pressed her chest against his. Sebastian still had not figured out how she managed to keep her breasts confined to the scanty fabric she called a shirt. It was scandalous enough without noting the fact that she wasn’t wearing any pants either, but Sebastian had so far managed not to find out exactly what–if anything–she was wearing between the long white tunic and thigh-high boots. And it had taken a monumental effort of will to resist the temptation to look. 

“My offer still stands, you know?” she purred and Anders’ eyes narrowed at her as if in confusion. “Any time you can get that spirit in your head to give you a break, you know where to find me.”

To Sebastian’s surprise, Anders shifted to look directly at him then. “Careful. We have a chantry brother eavesdropping on everything we say.”

But Isabela only appeared to be excited about this fact. “I know! And you’re wasting the opportunity. Come on, say something dirty so we can see how quickly he blushes.”

Luckily, Hawke chose that moment to return and round them up for a trip to the chantry, saving Sebastian from the indignity of admitting his impropriety in eavesdropping as well as the embarrassment of hearing whatever scandalous remarks Anders might use to stun him. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t explored such carnal pleasures before. He’d done just about everything at least once, so he doubted that either of them could truly shock him. But that still didn’t mean that he wanted to hear about it in public.

Until they encountered Mother Petrice in the chantry, Sebastian had been looking forward to hearing the grand cleric prove the drunken guard wrong, but they didn’t get to speak with her directly. And Petrice must have been the worst example of holiness he’d ever seen. He would have to report her behavior after this if Hawke didn’t do it first. 

But soon they were headed to the undercity, hot on the trail of Petrice’s former bodyguard, Ser Varnell, and he turned out to be an even worse example of his Order. In spite of Anders’ constant complaints about Templars, most of them were truly holy men and women devoted to their purpose, sacrificing their lives to protect the world from magic gone astray. But Varnell had twisted the Maker’s wishes to match his own purpose, murdering qunari because their faith did not match his own. Sebastian was so outraged that he was literally shaking with anger, barely able to aim his bow with any accuracy until he managed to get his emotions under control.

When it was over and the qunari and religious zealots both lay dead on the dirty floor, Sebastian felt the effort of containing his rage taking its toll and wandered away from the group while they waited for the Viscount to arrive and survey the damage. Finding a quiet corner of the underground hovel, he punched a wall in frustration and found it surprisingly solid, immediately regretting the action when he felt a shock of pain shooting up his arm. But he had to do something to vent his poisonous anger. Elthina had done her best to correct this behavior in him, to teach him ways to calm his feelings before they consumed him, but those teachings failed in the face of such horrors. He was still convinced that Elthina herself had nothing to do with what had happened, but that didn’t change the fact that people dedicated to the chantry had chosen such a brutal and misguided course of action.

Returning to the group finally, he kept his distance while the Viscount discussed the situation with Hawke and he was so distracted by his own thoughts that he didn’t notice the mage approaching until Anders appeared at his side. Anders looked a bit worse for wear, his face smeared with blood and his tunic torn at the bottom so that it gaped like an awkward smile, but his expression was all serious concern when he regarded Sebastian.

“You’re hurt,” Anders observed, his gaze darting down to look at Sebastian’s bloody knuckles. “I can heal that if you’d like.”

Flinching at the uncomfortable feeling of being seen—and no doubt judged as well—Sebastian lifted his hand mutely and let Anders maneuver it into a pool of light to get a better look. The mage was gentle and his healing magic was swift and efficient, patching together the skin and clearing away the bruises to banish the throbbing pain beneath. This was a side of Anders that Sebastian hadn’t yet witnessed. Despite all his bluster, he healed anyone who was injured with the same care and consideration, resisting the temptation to use his gifts as a tool to further his arguments by withholding them from those who disagreed with him. Sebastian had seen him patching up Fenris and Hawke earlier in the same way, but hadn’t understood this nuance until he felt Anders’ generosity himself.

“Thank you,” Sebastian said, his mouth dry with embarrassment over the fact that he had caused this damage himself.

But Anders didn’t say a word, nodding as he released Sebastian’s hand and walking away to give him space.

Sebastian did his best to remain calm when Hawke and the Viscount decided not to try to cover up the truth of what had happened, expecting the worst when they went to make their report to the qunari. But he was shocked to see the noble qunari react with much more wisdom and restraint than Sebastian himself could have mustered in his place.

“I have seen every vice and weakness of your kind,” the Arishok said in that slow, grating way of his, “and how few of you take responsibility. Your viscount remains a fool, but you are not. Panahedan, Hawke. I will keep one good thought about your kind.”

Feeling simultaneously inspired and ashamed by the qunari’s strength of character compared to his own, Sebastian was so overwhelmed by the day that even seeing Mother Petrice again could not fully cause his temper to flare. It burned coldly instead, embers waiting for the right fuel to burst into flame. The woman was relentless and unrepentant, and she would have to be dealt with, so he was relieved to find Hawke agreed. After she finished berating the mother, Hawke marched directly up the stairs to the dais where the grand cleric stood serenely waiting as if she had been expecting such a confrontation. Sebastian felt anxious as he climbed the steps behind her, torn between supporting Hawke and wanting to defer to the wisdom of the woman who had been the closest thing to a mother figure he had known after his family abandoned him to the chantry.

“Is something troubling you?” Elthina asked without even a flicker of fear in her kind eyes even though Hawke was obviously ready for a fight, the blood of her enemies still clinging to her armor.

“Did you know that someone used your name to instigate a crime against the qunari?” Hawke asked, her voice surprisingly calm.

Smiling patiently, Elthina shook her head. “The path to righteousness is never as straight and narrow as we would wish. I truly hoped this would not go so far. But do not trouble yourself. I will step in when it’s time.”

Anders made a sound of frustration, hands clenched at his sides with the effort to hold back the disparaging comment he clearly wanted to make. For once Sebastian found himself agreeing with the mage, disappointed by Elthina’s response.

Glancing at Anders with warning in her eyes, Hawke returned her attention to Elthina with a taut expression. “Are you intending to stay neutral about the qunari and mages forever?” she asked.

“The maker’s time is not men’s time,” Elthina said sagely, but for once her words felt hollow to Sebastian. “We do not need to rush. The chantry is not a domineering father with a whip always in hand. She is a gentle mother who knows her children learn best when allowed to learn themselves.” 

After seeing the violence first-hand, it was difficult to accept this lesson, but Sebastian swallowed his outrage and tried to see things from the grand cleric’s point of view. She had not led him astray yet. Perhaps she had a point now as well.

But Anders gave her no such consideration, turning and stomping down the stairs and out of the chantry without another word, his fury visible in every aspect of his posture as he walked away.

“I apologize for my friend,” Hawke said to Elthina. “He isn’t one for patience.”

Elthina nodded, giving Sebastian a significant look. “I know the type. But the Maker has a plan even for those who deny him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the game, Isabela will hook up with Fenris if neither of them is with Hawke, so I kind of like the idea of the same thing happening with Anders if Fenris is Hawke’s love interest instead. I know the game doesn’t fully support this, but I guess I’m just rare pairs all the way. Besides, she and Awakenings Anders would have been besties.


	11. Nathaniel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this quest happens in Act 3, but it seems really out of place there given the way Anders behaves. It’s kind of jarring compared to everything else. But I like the idea of seeing a glimpse into who Anders used to be enough to move it here so that it fits a little better. I’ve also decided to leave Bethany out since I plan to bring her back for the Legacy DLC and that would be pretty repetitive with this chapter otherwise.

Varric wondered how long their expedition into the Deep Roads would keep coming back to haunt them. He had guessed his dead brother had been involved as soon as Delilah Howe told them the Grey Wardens were exploring their path into the Deep Roads, but hearing her brother Nathaniel confirm Bartrand’s involvement still stung. Bartrand hadn’t had any business sending other fools into that accursed place, not when it had destroyed so many lives, including his own. But his greed had known no bounds. 

At least Nathaniel himself seemed reasonable, and he was more concerned with rescuing his fellow wardens than continuing to search for the primeval thaig. Anders seemed to trust him. In fact, Anders was acting more relaxed in Nathaniel’s company than Varric had seen him in years – perhaps more relaxed than he’d ever seen him. Sensing a story that Anders had neglected to share, Varric lingered close and pretended to be occupied with collecting stray bolts from around the battlefield while he listened to their conversation.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Anders was asking Nathaniel with a grin, a teasing glint in his eyes that made Varric long for the early days of their friendship when they’d wandered around the city in Hawke’s wake and exchanged jokes every step of the way. He’d almost forgotten Anders could be like this.

Nathaniel shot a wry expression in his direction. On the surface, Howe was every bit as gruff and humorless as Anders had implied, but the way he looked at Anders was nothing like the way he spoke. “I was hoping Justice would have been the dominant personality.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” Anders’ smile actually reached his eyes, his expression warm and soft as he looked at Nathaniel. 

“We all thought you were dead, you know,” Nathaniel said more seriously, adjusting his bow over his shoulder. “You and Justice both.”

The smile on Anders’ lips faltered. 

“Until Stroud came back with the recruit you convinced him to accept that is.”

“Recruit? You’re talking about Bethany, aren’t you?” Hawke asked, joining their conversation as she sheathed her daggers.

Nathaniel gave her a strange look. “Of course. You’re her sister, aren’t you? The resemblance is uncanny.”

“I am.” Hawke hesitated before asking, “How is she?”

“Still bitter about her lot in life, I’m afraid, but strong and hale. She is quite skilled.” He shifted his attention back to Anders. “And I see a few of your tricks in her techniques, Anders.”

Anders shook his head, his expression turning wistful. “I doubt she learned anything from me. We didn’t fight together long enough for that.”

“I don’t know. Your style...is rather distinctive. I would recognize it anywhere.”

“I think so too,” Merrill said in a bright voice. “All those flourishes when he uses a spell are very impressive. It’s almost like a dance!”

Nathaniel looked at the slim elf with a bit of surprise, a genuine smile flashing across his face. “Indeed. Didn’t you have a name for it, Anders?”

“Can we stop critiquing my fighting style now?” Anders asked, his face flushing as he turned away. Varric wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen the mage show embarrassment so obviously.

“I seem to recall something about a spicy shimmy,” Nathaniel continued. “Or was that something else?”

Hawke laughed and Merrill giggled as well, although the elf probably didn’t quite get the joke. Varric’s smile was a bit more subdued as he tried to imagine a younger, more carefree Anders saying such a thing. The way Howe teased the mage made a strange and unfamiliar emotion unfurl deep in his chest, a longing to know the Anders that Nathaniel had known along with a pang of something else, something he couldn’t quite name. Anders had told Varric so many tales about his days with the wardens, but he’d never captured the dynamics of this particular friendship in his stories.

Varric noticed the two of them wander off from the rest of the group when they stopped to take a break, standing at the far end of a half-collapsed corridor where they likely thought they were out of sight. But Varric had picked the perfect spot to sit down and clean the blood off Bianca because he could just make them out in the dim light. Nathaniel paced back and forth, talking earnestly for a while, but eventually Anders shook his head and turned to walk away. Before he could get far, Nathaniel reached out to catch him around the waist, brushing a hand over Anders’ jaw and leaning forward to draw him into a kiss. Varric’s mouth fell open and he looked away quickly, but the image of Anders arching into the man’s touch and reaching up to grip white-knuckled at Nathaniel’s sleeve lingered in his mind. As a writer, Varric had never shied away from imagining any kind of relationship, but romance between men had never done much for him personally before. Still, he felt a little lightheaded when he returned his attention to his crossbow, surprised by how much the sight had affected him.

He didn’t look up when Anders passed him a while later, only glancing at the mage after he had walked by. Judging by the tension in his posture and the way he clenched his jaw, whatever had happened between him and Nathaniel hadn’t ended particularly well. 

Nathaniel appeared soon after, his expression guarded as he said, “We should keep moving. I sense more trouble ahead.” 

They fought their way through a few more waves of darkspawn, and this time when they paused to recover Anders was preoccupied with healing a nasty wound on Hawke’s arm. Varric refilled his supply of bolts and handed Nathaniel a few arrows he had collected along the way, but the warden was watching Anders so closely that he didn’t notice Varric until he cleared his throat. 

“Thank you,” he said, taking the arrows and sliding them into his quiver without looking away from Anders. 

“You okay?” Varric asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Nathaniel nodded. “He’s just changed so much. I didn’t notice it at first, but now I can’t see anything else.”

“I thought you preferred Justice.”

A smile crossed Nathaniel’s lips but quickly faded. “I liked Justice well enough, but his rigid thinking was often exhausting. Unlike Anders, he was always painfully serious.”

“Anders wasn’t serious when you knew him?”

Howe blinked at him in surprise. “Not at all. He was so giddy to be free from the Circle that he acted like everything was one big joke in comparison. Doesn’t he make jokes anymore?” 

“Occasionally. When he isn’t brooding about mage rights.”

Nathaniel frowned. “Now that sounds exactly like Justice. The two of them had more than a few arguments about Anders’ responsibilities to his fellow mages. I guess Justice got the final word in the end…”

Trying to imagine a version of Anders who would actually argue against getting involved in the plight of the mages, Varric sighed. “I wish I’d met him when he was only Anders. Sounds like he was a lot of fun.”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “He certainly thought he was.” 

Laughing, Varric noticed that Hawke was waving at them to catch up. “Looks like we’re ready to go.”

To his surprise, Nathaniel caught him by the arm before he could walk away. “Keep an eye on him, will you? Anders and I…we were close once. He’s keeping his distance now because he knows I’ll notice if something is wrong. And something is definitely wrong.”

“Why are you asking me?”

Nathaniel arched a brow at him. “Instead of Hawke? She might be the ringleader of your group, but you’re the one who looks out for everyone. That much is obvious.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Varric decided that he’d underestimated Nathaniel. “I’ll watch over him,” he said. It wasn’t a difficult promise to make given the fact that he was already doing it.

When they joined the rest of the group, Anders stopped Varric with a hand on his shoulder. “Let me look at that,” he said, lifting a hand to a cut on his jaw that he hadn’t even noticed.

Catching his wrist and pulling it away from his face, Varric shook his head. “Save your energy for the important stuff, Blondie.”

Anders opened his mouth to protest, but winced instead, turning to look in the same direction as Nathaniel as if they could both hear something that no one else could hear.

“Ready yourselves. More darkspawn on the way,” Nathaniel announced.

When they had finally regrouped with the other wardens and the path to the surface was clear, Nathaniel looked at Hawke. “For the first time since I’ve been down here, I don’t sense a single darkspawn. Thank you for your help. Because of you, I shall see my sister and nephew again.” 

“You’re welcome,” she said. “But do me a favor and tell the wardens there’s nothing worth finding down here, will you?”

“I will. It sounds like the treasures you found were more trouble than they were worth.” He turned then to look at Anders, and the look in his eyes was enough to make even Varric a little uncomfortable.

“It was good to see you again,” Anders said finally, giving him one of the bittersweet half-smiles that was more his style these days.

Nathaniel nodded. “Stay safe, Anders.”

As they headed back to the surface, Varric fell into step beside the mage. “So, you’re two for two in meeting up with wardens and avoiding getting pulled back into their order. With how chummy you were with this one I was starting to think we might lose you this time.” 

Anders sighed and gave him a knowing look. “How much did you see?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Blondie,” Varric said with a laugh that sounded forced even to him.

But Anders only smiled sadly and let the subject drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I couldn’t help myself. I ship Anders and Nathaniel, so I had to include at least a hint of it here… I also like how this chapter mirrors the chapter with Bianca in The Wrong Man, and even though he hasn't realized his feelings for Anders yet, Varric is still a little bothered by Anders' history with Nathaniel – mostly because he didn't know about it.


	12. Vengeance

“I have some doubts about the finer points of this plan,” Hawke said, kicking the remains of a giant spider off her weapon and flinging its viscous fluids off her blade and onto the floor. “Once we find our way into the Gallows, how exactly do you plan to track down evidence of Ser Alrik’s supposed plot? If he really is trying to turn every mage in the Circle tranquil, I doubt he’s going to just leave his notes lying around for anyone to find them.”

“From what I hear, he doesn’t think he has anything to hide,” Anders replied, feeling Justice’s frustration roiling beneath the surface of his mind. The spirit was tiring of Hawke’s skepticism and ready to take matters into their own hands. Begging him for patience, Anders added, “Alrik believes his actions are fully justified, and with the chantry staying so neutral he has every reason to think they would let him have his way.”

Hawke didn’t seem particularly reassured by this, her expression one of begrudging assent while her eyes were still full of reservations. “If that’s the case, then what do you hope to accomplish with this whole exercise?”

“Even I don’t think everyone in the chantry could be that corrupt. Surely the Grand Cleric would be forced to act if we brought her evidence of something like this.”

“That’s rather reasonable of you,” Hawke said, obviously surprised, before walking ahead to scout out the next chamber of the cave system. 

Her attitude galled him as much as it did Justice, but honestly he was shocked that he’d managed to convince her to help him infiltrate the Gallows at all. She had no qualms about laughing in his face when he told her about Ser Alrik’s “Tranquil Solution,” and he suspected she was simply going through the motions now and hoping to prove his theory wrong in the end. But he was grateful that Hawke chose Varric and Isabela to accompany them through the tunnels in order to make their party as stealthy as possible. Even if they were equally skeptical, at least they didn’t feel the need to argue about it every step of the way.

“Why does it always have to be spiders?” Isabela asked airily, proving his unspoken point.

“Sometimes it’s smugglers and mercenaries,” Varric countered.

“Sure, but what I don’t understand is where they all come from. According to Anders, there are people tromping back and forth through these caves all the time smuggling lyrium and rescuing mages. Surely they should be completely cleared out by now.”

“Rivaini, you really know how to ask the big questions, don’t you?”

Smiling a bit in spite of his anxiety, Anders followed Hawke into the next chamber and found her crouching beside the opening to another room. She pressed a finger against her lips when she saw him and then waved him closer. Passing the warning along to the others, Anders approached the opening as quietly as he could, leaning against the rock wall on the opposite side from Hawke and peering into the chamber beyond.

Sunlight filtered down from a crack in the ceiling, creating a well-lit alcove rich with growth. It would be a quaint spot to relax if not for the group of Templars gathered at the center. They were herding a terrified mage into a corner, and the man in front of the group was Ser Alrik himself. Anders’ jaw dropped open in surprise. He’d been told that Ser Alrik would be away tonight, which was the central reason he had chosen this time for their infiltration. Either plans had changed or his information had been bad – and if it was the latter, then what else about his information was wrong?

Alrik’s behavior, at least, aligned with everything Anders had heard about him. Sneering with every word, he berated the young woman and taunted her, treating her like a bug on the sole of his shoe. “You know what happens to mage girls who don’t toe the line around here, don’t you?” he said, and the words made Anders’ skin crawl.

The girl scrambled to get away, but there was nowhere to go. “Please no! Don’t make me Tranquil. I’ll do anything.”

And then it wasn’t just Anders’ skin crawling, it was Justice attempting to take control of his body, the spirit’s glow temporarily wiping out Anders’ vision as he fought to hold back his rage. 

“Blondie,” Varric hissed, catching Anders’ arm in a firm grip. “Keep it together.”

Trembling, Anders managed to push Justice back, reminding him silently about where they were and how they couldn’t afford to reveal themselves so close to the Templar’s place of power, but when he opened his eyes again, he saw to his shock that Hawke had stepped out of their hiding place and started walking toward the Templars herself, a furious expression twisting her features into a mask of rage. Apparently not even Hawke could watch such cruelty against mages without acting.

Oblivious to the approaching danger, Alrik loomed over the cowering mage and purred, “That’s right. Once you’re Tranquil, you’ll do everything I ask.”

Anders’ vision flashed white again. He heard Justice’s voice boom across the cavern, the words tearing unnaturally from his throat. “You fiends will never touch a mage again. I will have every last Templar for these abuses!” Anders tried desperately to gain some influence over his body again, some thread of control, but he couldn’t stop Justice, could barely feel his own body as they fought and ripped through the Templars with abandon. Justice was so strong, and the power the spirit gave his body was exhilarating, addictive, as if they could take on the whole world without fear. 

Eventually, he heard Hawke calling his name. “Enough, Anders. They’re dead. You can stop glowing now.”

But Anders wasn’t the one making the decisions anymore, and he felt Justice continue to rage until they were the ones looming over the terrified mage, the ones making her scramble away in horror. 

“Get away from me, demon!” she cried, covering her head with her arms, the very picture of the obedient mage the chantry trained them all to be.

But her reaction only added fuel to Justice’s fire and he screamed at her, outraged that she would think him a demon. Trapped within his own mind, Anders pleaded with his friend to calm down, tried to talk sense into him, but he was being ignored. Was this how Justice felt every day trapped inside Anders and unable to interact with the world? How horrible it must be for him. 

“Blondie, you have to stop!” Distantly, he felt Varric’s hand on his arm again, but this time Justice flung him off, knocking Varric back against the wall with enough force for Anders to worry about the damage he had done, but Justice looked away before he could see if Varric got back up.

“You’re out of control, Anders!” Hawke cried, stepping between him and the girl, the righteous fury he’d seen on her features when she attacked the Templars now turned entirely on him. 

Flames flared at Anders’ fingertips, and he felt Justice lift his arm in spite of his efforts to keep it down.

“Let him go, Justice.” This was from Isabela. She had snuck below his guard and pressed a knife against his throat. Anders was shocked that of all of them, she was the first to realize how little control Anders actually had at that moment. 

Justice was equally surprised, and that little bit of hesitation provided the opening Anders needed to take control again. Flinging himself away from Isabela and Hawke in case he lost control again, Anders clutched at his aching head, feeling the anger Justice had been ready to turn into fire burning him from the inside out instead. “Maker...no,” he gasped, sickened by what they had nearly done. “I almost…” Looking up at his friends through blurry vision, he saw them all staring back with stunned expressions. He had to get out of there before he hurt anyone else. 

He didn’t know where he was going or how he got there, as lost to the world around him as he had been when Justice had been in control, but eventually he found himself at the door of his clinic. Stumbling through the door and locking it behind him, he staggered a few steps into the dark room and then collapsed on the floor, burying his face in his hands. What was he going to do?

He’d known that Justice had changed when they joined, that his human emotions had warped the spirit’s purity as completely as a demon warped the mind of a blood mage. In this case he had been the demon, the one to corrupt his friend and turn him into something twisted. And it was too late to take it back. If Justice could take control like this and turn him into a puppet, then how could he ever trust himself again? How could he continue to heal patients without worrying that he would lose control and cause even more harm? Or fight alongside Hawke without fear that he would turn into an enemy worse than the ones they were fighting?

“We need to end it,” he whispered into the silence of the clinic, knowing that death would be the only way to separate them now. Perhaps it would even give Justice a chance to escape back to the Fade and become what he once was.

But Anders was still as much of a coward as he had ever been. He couldn’t go through with such a drastic action. But he could run away. Maybe he could find a place to hide where they wouldn’t be a danger to anyone. The thought made his heart ache. He was not built to live alone, and even the suggestion of such isolation triggered memories of his year in solitary confinement. He couldn’t do that either. 

“We must stay here.” This thought belonged to Justice, but it was so strong that it felt like his own. “We have work to do. We must free the mages.”

Anders shuddered, fighting to keep Justice from taking control again. But the spirit was weakened from the effort he had made fighting against the Templars, and he submitted to Anders more quickly than expected. Relieved, Anders sat up straighter and looked around. He needed to pack. It wouldn’t take long since he’d kept himself too busy to accumulate many possessions. And then he needed to flee the city before Justice regained strength and it was too late to run away.

“Blondie?”

Wincing, Anders glanced over his shoulder to see that Varric had picked the lock on his door and stepped inside. “No,” he said quickly, panic clenching at his chest. “Varric, you shouldn’t be here. I might...I don’t know if I can control him.”

Varric pushed the door shut behind him and turned the lock that he had just picked back into place. He had blood smeared on the left side of his face, the side that had hit the rock after Anders threw him against the wall, and his expression was more serious than Anders had ever seen it. He didn’t move any closer, leaning back against the door and watching Anders closely without saying a word.

Swallowing his fear, Anders asked, “Did I hurt you?”

Varric brushed a hand over his cheek and frowned at the blood on it as if he’d been too distracted to even notice the injury until then.

“Do you need…?” Anders fell silent, remembering his fears about using his magic even to heal without Justice interfering.

“What I need is for you to stay right there,” Varric said quietly, holding a hand palm out toward him. “I’m pretty sure I know the answer now, but I was slow on the uptake before… Am I talking to Anders again?”

Anders nodded, biting at his lower lip. “Yes. As much of me as there is.”

“Were you aware of everything that happened?”

“Mostly. But I couldn’t...I didn’t know how to stop him once he took control.”

“And now?”

“He’s...quiet.” Anders realized then that it was true. Justice seemed to have exhausted himself and now even his influence in Anders’ thoughts was gone.

Varric approached him with wary steps and Anders shook his head reflexively, curling into himself and hiding his face again. 

“I need to leave Kirkwall. I need to find a place where I can’t hurt anyone before it’s too late.”

“And then what?” Varric was close now, crouched down beside him. “How long before Justice takes control completely without you even realizing it? And with no one around to notice. Do you think he’d be willing to play hermit without your influence? Or will he hunt down the nearest Circle and start a revolution?”

Shivering at the thought of Justice wearing his body around and doing whatever he pleased, Anders groaned. “I should have let Isabela finish what she started.”

Varric sighed. “I don’t think Rivaini would have been able to follow through any more than I could have.”

“What about Hawke?” Anders asked, lifting his head enough to look at Varric.

“She’s pretty furious. I don’t know.” He shook his head. “That’s why I’m here and not her. I was afraid she wouldn’t ask any questions before making her decision.”

Anders supposed that was fair. And it was actually reassuring to think that Hawke, at least, might be willing to stop him if he lost control. “What about you? Have you made a decision?”

Looking away from Anders gaze, Varric picked his words carefully as he replied, “I think that what happened today was an anomaly. Frankly, Alrik pissed all of us off enough to make us foolish. We killed a squad of Templars on their own turf – asshole Templars, but still.” His gaze drifted back to meet Anders’ eyes. “You should know… We found a note on Alrik’s body. He was every bit as crazy as you thought, but everyone else knew it already. No one was jumping on board with his plans.”

That news was simultaneously a relief and an embarrassment. “I lost my objectivity,” Anders murmured. “I should have known better than to believe something so outrageous.”

“Maybe that’s what you should work on. As I understand it, Justice sees the world through your eyes. If you can make sure he sees it accurately, then maybe he’ll be easier to control.”

Anders nodded, feeling a bone-deep exhaustion settle over him. “I’ll try.” Out of habit, he lifted a hand to touch the blood on the dwarf’s cheek, searching for the source of the bleeding and sealing the cut with a thread of magic. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he pulled his hand away quickly. He had promised himself he would stop looking for excuses to touch Varric, and if he was honest with himself, he had touched him this time more out of a desire for contact than worry over his injury. But it was still possible he had worse injuries invisible to the eye. Looking up at him in worry, he asked, “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Just my pride, Blondie.” A smile tugged at Varric’s lips, his trademark smirk, but seeing it now only made the regret clutching at Anders’ chest twist even tighter.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t let it happen again.”

Anders nodded, his hands falling into his lap and his shoulders slumping.

“You look exhausted,” Varric observed. “Maybe you should get some rest.”

“Will you…” Anders cringed, knowing he had no right to ask anything more of Varric at this point.

But Varric didn’t need to be asked. “I’ll stick around for a bit.” Patting his shoulder as he stood up, he added, “Come on, Blondie. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back to play this quest again and realized there aren’t actually any spiders in these tunnels, just lyrium smugglers. But I liked the conversation between Isabela and Varric too much to change it. 
> 
> Not sure how many of you are out there still reading at this point, but I have actually finished writing the first draft of the whole thing and I'm eager to finish telling this chapter of Anders story. It was harder to write than expected, especially since everything keeps getting darker from here to the end. I'm glad I wrote this after The Wrong Man so anyone new who might stumble on this story first will know that they have that redemption story to look forward to afterward. Anyway, I'm going to post more frequently as I edit chapters and get them ready. I'd still love to hear your thoughts if you have time to leave a note, but I appreciate anyone out there reading regardless.


	13. Release

Isabela had just started drinking, freshly returned to the Hanged Man after another fruitless day of searching for the damn book that was the only way to get Castillon off her back before he ran out of patience and finally tried to kill her. Or the Qunari figured out what she had done and killed her first. One way or another everything would be coming to a boil soon and she would end up in the middle of all that hot water if she didn’t find a solution first.

Frustrated and eager for a distraction, she turned away from the bar to survey the room, scanning all the warm bodies for a potential partner. She’d already sampled several of them on previous occasions, enough to know that they wouldn’t satisfy the itch gathering beneath her skin now. There were a few new possibilities, but she wasn’t immediately drawn to any of them. She’d need a lot more alcohol in her system to get over her lack of interest, so she drained her mug and signaled Corff for a refill.

“Give me some of the good stuff this time,” she said, unwilling to drink enough of the tavern’s standard swill to get her where she needed to be. Something stronger would get her there much faster.

Sipping at her fresh drink with a sigh, she turned to glance around the room again, straightening when she saw Anders walk through the door looking even more exhausted than usual and a bit frayed around the edges. Perhaps even a little desperate. In fact, Anders was looking like the best option in the room by far right now, and he started walking toward her as soon as she caught his eye. 

She hadn’t seen him since Justice had taken him over and nearly killed a girl, but she couldn’t be sure if he had been intentionally avoiding everyone or just trying to keep himself busy enough to forget what he had almost done. Varric seemed convinced that Anders wouldn’t let something like that happen again, but Hawke still had doubts and hadn’t brought him along on any jobs, not even the ones where his skills might have been particularly useful. Isabela knew it was only a matter of time before it happened again no matter how much Anders tried to fight the spirit, but she wasn’t particularly worried about it. Justice had backed down quickly enough when she threatened him directly and Anders wasn’t a fool. He would be extra wary of the spirit now that he had seen how much was at stake.

Nodding at him when he joined her at the bar, she arched a brow when he ordered a mug of ale and downed it all in one long draft, drops of beer escaping the frothy mug and rolling down over his throat as he swallowed. Her fingers twitched with the desire to brush them away.

“Rough day?” she asked, taking another sip of her own drink and studying his profile, the harsh angles and ragged edges that made him look so different from the fresh young mage she had played around with back at the Pearl. But he still had enough handsome features hiding beneath the rough exterior to make her want to crack open his shell and find how much he had actually changed since then.

Jaw set with determination, he thumped the empty mug back on the bar and finally turned to look at her. His eyes were almost golden in the warm light, burning with something she’d never expected to see in him again. “Were you serious before? About the offer you made when Sebastian was eavesdropping?”

She thought back to that moment, how nice Anders had felt against her when she pulled him close. While she had been motivated at the time by her desire to tease the prince, she rarely did anything for only one reason. And it was slowly occurring to her that Anders hadn’t shown up at the Hanged Man at random. He had come there intentionally looking for her. For the very thing she had also been seeking. This was almost too good to be true. 

Pushing her mug in his direction, she suggested, “Finish that off too. You look thirsty.” And she didn’t need it anymore.

He glanced down at the mug and back at her, a little uncertain now.

She dragged her gaze over him hungrily. “Stop looking so worried. The offer was all for you, sweet thing, and it was very real.”

That lopsided smile of his made an appearance and it was refreshing to see the expression after so long. 

“But I do have some ground rules.”

He arched a brow and waited expectantly for her to continue.

“First off, I don’t want to see the other guy. If he makes even the slightest appearance, I’m done.”

His smile frayed a bit around the edges. “Justice won’t interfere. He helped me heal patients all day, and the drink will keep him subdued.” 

She shivered at the realization that he’d been drinking for control instead of the other way around. 

“Anything else?”

She had been mostly concerned about the spirit, but now that she thought about it there was another thing that worried her. Better to mention it from the beginning so there wouldn’t be any confusion. “I don’t do feelings. If you’re after something beyond physical contact, you’re looking in the wrong place.”

He laughed a little, but nodded. “I understand.”

Shrugging, she said, “Other than that, anything goes.” 

“Anything?”

“I wouldn’t want to put any limits on your creativity.” And she knew even from her limited experience with him that he could be very creative indeed.

He reached for her ale. Finishing it off thoughtfully, he peered into the empty mug and asked, “How could your drink be so much better than what I ordered?” 

“Because I know how to get what I need,” she replied, tossing enough coin on the bar to cover both of their drinks and grabbing him by the elbow. 

He followed without resistance, so eager in fact that they stumbled into each other on the stairs. They were both laughing and clumsily groping each other by the time they made it to her room and she was glad that Varric wasn’t home to witness the spectacle because the dwarf would never let her live down such childish behavior. 

Pulling the door shut behind her, she was startled when he shoved her back against it and started kissing her, drinking her down as thoroughly as he had those mugs of ale. Kissing was usually off limits for her since she preferred to skip over the parts most likely to trigger emotions, but denying herself Anders’ skill would have been a crime. Hungry hands drifted over her body before finally settling on her backside and lifting her off her feet. Clutching at his shoulders and wrapping her legs around him, she locked her ankles at the small of his back and wondered if they would even make it to the bed before they finished.

They didn’t. Sometimes she forgot that Anders had grown up in the Circle where sex was most often a half-clothed quickie in a dark corner while the templars were looking the other way. Threading fingers into his hair as he buried his face into her cleavage and put his own fingers to good use elsewhere, she groaned with delight when she felt the occasional spark of electricity shoot through her, shuddering against him as he brought her to the edge with astonishing speed. He didn’t waste any time seeking his own pleasure after that, and soon she was awash in sensation, sparing only a fleeting concern for the integrity of the door rattling behind her when Anders really threw himself into a thrust. She hadn’t expected such a rough approach from him, but it was far from unwelcome. In fact, she preferred a quick and dirty tumble like this in most cases and was pleased to find he was capable of it. Involuntary moans spilled from her lips as he increased his pace, but Anders barely made a sound beyond panting breaths, even when he found his own release. Another habit developed in the Circle, no doubt. 

Still tingling in the aftermath, she was glad that he was holding her up because she thought her legs might have buckled by that point. Resting his forehead against hers as he tried to catch his breath, he closed his eyes and finally relaxed against her. The position was a little too tender for her taste but she didn’t push him away. She wasn’t sure why. 

A loud banging on the wall next to them was followed by an angry shout. “Keep it down, you dirty whore!”

Anders’ eyes snapped open, a frown darkening his features, but she only laughed.

“Good job,” she said with a grin, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “I haven’t had complaints from an angry neighbor for a while.”

“Sorry. I’m usually more discreet.”

“Are you kidding? You were practically silent.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Other than with the door, I suppose.”

He winced, releasing his grip on her hips and letting her down with startling gentleness compared to everything else he’d done so far. “It’s sturdier than it looks. Thankfully.”

Stepping out from between him and the door, she crossed arms under her breasts as she regarded him, wondering if he would leave now that he’d had his fun. “I wouldn’t mind annoying them some more if you want to stick around a while.”

She knew as soon as he met her gaze that he was going to stay. Shrugging out of his coat and tossing it aside, he approached her again, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. 

“I’m taking the lead this time.” Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss into the hollow of his throat and slid her hand down his chest, brushing her knuckles over his stomach just above where his breeches were still hanging open. “By the time I’m done with you they’ll be complaining about your screams.”

He laughed a little uneasily. “Do you think they’ll call me a dirty whore too?”

“Maybe, but they rarely use the same insult twice in an evening. They might say worthless slut instead. Or damned harlot. Or my personal favorite: wanton woman. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” Grasping a handful of his tunic, she lifted it far enough for him to get the hint and pull it over his head.

“It almost rhymes,” he agreed, tossing his shirt on the floor. “I’m more familiar with ‘perverted abomination of nature’ myself, but that seems a bit too highbrow for these hecklers.”

Smiling, she studied him in the dim light of the oil lamp she’d left burning in the room. She had expected him to be thin and wiry beneath his clothes and he was, but she hadn’t expected all the scars. When she’d seen him naked before she hadn’t paid much attention because he had been just some runaway mage she never expected to see again, but now she knew him and the scars told a story. Most of them looked old, possibly even from childhood, souvenirs from a troubled adolescence under the templars’ thumb, but a few were recent enough that she suspected he wasn’t healing himself as well as he did the rest of them. Reaching out to touch the burn just below his breastbone, she dragged fingertips over the ridges of his ribs and felt more tiny scars hiding there as well. He shivered beneath her touch and she grinned into a kiss against his collarbone, backing him in the direction of the bed.

He sat down obediently when she pushed on his shoulders and she marveled at how patiently he was following her lead. She preferred being in control but was accustomed to having to continuously fight for the position. Unfastening her boots and yanking them off with practiced movements, she crawled onto his lap and tried to untie the laces of her corset but the damn things were tangled and refused to budge. Seeing her frustration, he reached down with clever fingers to loosen the knots. Letting him finish the work, she reached up to tug on the strap holding his hair back. Silky hair fell down around her hands and she was surprised by how clean and fresh it smelled as she nuzzled a kiss against his temple. 

Finally she felt her corset give way and groaned with relief as he helped her remove her tunic as well. He didn’t hesitate to touch her as soon as she was exposed, and she reveled for a while in the gentle exploration of his hands and lips against sensitive skin, tightening her grip on his hair when he added magic to his ministrations. 

But she had promised to make him scream and had every intention of following through with that promise. Sliding off his lap, she reached for the top of his breeches and started to tug them down his legs. He fell back against the bed and lifted his hips to help, but she didn’t bother fully removing his pants, dropping to her knees between his legs and getting to work as soon as she got them as far as his ankles. Using every trick she knew to unravel his self-control, she listened as his broken gasps slowly turned into soft moans and finally a loud cry that made her neighbor shout out another complaint. But neither of them were paying enough attention at that point to catch the insult.

The rest of the evening passed in one such position or another and when they had both wrung as much pleasure out of each other as they could manage, she collapsed back on the bed and resisted the temptation to curl up against him. Rolling onto her side in the opposite direction, she tried to ignore the traitorous part of her that longed to feel him against her again, to relax back into his warmth and just drift off to sleep. Cuddling was a great way to get attached and that was the last thing she needed. 

Either he wasn’t feeling the same impulse or was taking her boundaries too seriously to risk violating them because once he’d recovered he slipped off the bed and began gathering his clothes from the floor without a glance in her direction. Looking over her shoulder at him, she tried to read his thoughts from his face as he dressed, but he was guarded now and distant. Angry at the ache that kept hitting her in the gut like a sucker punch, she sat up as well but refused to cover herself, stretching as she stood and knowing the movement would show off her best assets. She was a little disappointed when she turned to find that he wasn’t watching her. In fact, he seemed to be intentionally avoiding looking at her at all.

“Isabela…” he said, gaze focused on the floor. “Thank you.” 

She flinched at the way that sounded, like she had done him a favor.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly when he saw her reaction. “Thank you for trusting me. I know I probably don’t deserve it at this point.”

And that just made the ache twist deeper inside of her. She didn’t know what to say, so she walked around the bed and kissed him. This time he responded with a lot less urgency and a lot more finesse and she quickly regretted kissing him again. She was going to want this. She was going to want him. Dammit. 

Pushing him away, she forced herself to smirk at him. “No feelings, remember?”

He nodded. And the look in his eyes made her want to break her own rules, but she managed to fight the urge. 

“I’ll see you around,” he said with a bittersweet smile before walking out the door.


	14. Grey Whiskey

Varric had seen a lot of truly crazy things over the years, but the horrific nightmare he’d experienced in Quentin’s lair was on a whole new level. Without realizing it, they’d been tracking the madman’s activities for years, since before they even journeyed into the Deep Roads. The Templar, Emeric, had been their source of information on the possible murders, but no one in the city guard had even believed there was a killer on the loose, dismissing Emeric’s evidence as a series of unfortunate, unrelated deaths. But Emeric had mistakenly accused Gascard DuPuis of being the culprit and now Emeric was dead along with him. Varric had pulled the trigger on DuPuis himself when he realized that even if the man hadn’t been the actual killer, he’d been eager to follow in the killer’s footsteps. 

In spite of everything, Varric had managed to keep his shit together until the fight was over and Quentin was dead on the ground, but when he saw what was left of Leandra staggering toward Hawke like a puppet with her strings cut, he felt bile rising in his throat and burning at the back of his tongue. Forcing it back down, he braced himself against a nearby wall and tried to catch his breath, his eyes burning as he watched Hawke catch the patchwork woman who wore her mother’s face and cradle her broken body in her arms. Fenris hovered uncertainly a few steps away, a tortured expression on his narrow features as he watched Hawke, hands fisted at his sides. He appeared to be at a complete loss as to what to do with himself and Varric could relate to that feeling. The only one among them who seemed to know how to behave was Sebastian. He stood stoically behind Hawke, head bowed in prayer.

Normally Varric would be the first one to comfort a friend, drawing on his experience crafting stories to instinctively know what was needed in almost any circumstance. But this situation was too bizarre to have a corollary, either in real life or imagination, and all he could think to do was give Hawke space to process what had happened. He could barely hear the conversation between them, the way Leandra supported Hawke even while dying in her arms, but even that much was enough to choke him up entirely. 

He didn’t remember much of what happened after that. They had done something with the bodies, surely. Or maybe he had sent someone to take care of it later? He honestly couldn’t remember now. Numbed by the horror and worried about Hawke, the next several days had passed in a blur. Hawke hadn’t left her house and she’d barely even reacted to his presence when he went to visit her. He asked Bodahn to let him know if she needed anything because he didn’t trust her to ask, but the dwarf told him that Fenris had been staying at the house and watching over her. Varric wasn’t sure Broody was capable of the emotional support she needed, but truthfully, neither was he. Not when visions of Leandra’s last moments continued to haunt his thoughts every time he closed his eyes.

Returning to the Hanged Man after another depressing visit to Hawke’s house, he barely registered the crowd in the common room as he pushed his way through it, still thinking about the way Hawke had stared unseeingly into the fire for the entirety of his visit. He nearly collided with someone at the top of the stairs and looked up in shock to see Anders standing in the hallway coming from the direction of Isabela’s room. Eyes narrowing as he noticed that something seemed off about the mage, he made a quick assessment of his appearance, cataloguing the way his coat fastenings were misaligned, his shirt tucked partially into his breeches and his ponytail slightly askew. If Varric didn’t know better he would have guessed that Anders had been doing more in Isabela’s room than just chatting. 

But did he actually know better? It shouldn’t have been shocking to him that Anders might have sought comfort in the pirate’s companionship. It wasn’t as if Isabela was likely to turn him down, and if anyone needed comfort and a temporary escape from his life it was Anders. 

“Blondie,” he greeted with an arched brow.

Anders was a little breathless, brushing a hand over his hair self-consciously. “Varric.”

Tilting his head to the side, he asked, “You want a drink? I could use one. And some company.”

Blinking in surprise at the offer, Anders looked around a bit, his eyes darting back over his shoulder in the direction of Isabela’s room before he nodded. “Sure.”

Varric went straight to the shelf where he kept his strongest alcohol and picked up a bottle he’d heard was the kind of gut-rot moonshine that Grey Wardens preferred. Warden stamina was legendary, and even though he had rarely seen Anders drink he knew that he could hold his liquor better than most. And Varric fully intended to get drunk himself, so he needed a drinking buddy who could keep up with him. 

Sitting down at the table, Anders laughed when he saw the bottle. “Is that what I think it is?”

“I hear they call it Grey Whiskey,” Varric said, taking his usual seat and plopping the bottle down along with a few glasses. 

“Also Ritewine. Or Conscription Ale. We had all kinds of names for it back in Amaranthine.”

Cracking the seal and grimacing as he caught a whiff of the stuff, Varric filled up the glasses and pushed one toward Anders. “You ever make a bottle of your own?”

“Of course.” Anders’ grin was a welcome relief to Varric’s eyes, moreso considering he hadn’t seen the mage smile since he’d nearly lost control to Justice beneath the Gallows. “It’s one of the first things you do after joining the Wardens.” He didn’t bother sniffing at the cup, wincing as he took a sip and shaking his head reflexively in reaction. “That is really awful,” he said, still grinning.

Varric’s eyes started watering as soon as he took his first drink and the burn lingered long afterward. It was perfect.

Wiping at his mouth, Anders asked. “Where did you find it?”

“I don’t even remember now. Bought it in a case of booze from an old Carta contact I think. I didn’t realize what I had until years later. This stuff is probably ancient by now.” He took another drink and closed his eyes as it rolled down his throat, leaning his head against the back of his chair.

“It brings back memories.”

“Any you’d like to share?” 

When Anders remained silent, Varric opened his eyes again to look at him, surprised to see the wistful twist to the mage’s lips. “I’ve already told you most of my stories from those days. All of the good ones at least.” He took another drink, and this time he barely flinched as he swallowed. 

“Yeah... I’ll pass on any sad stories today, Blondie.”

Anders looked at Varric over the top of his glass. “Why are we drinking, Varric?”

“Do we need a reason?”

“No, but I can tell there is one.”

Varric swallowed and looked away, not ready to broach the subject. So he turned the attention back on Anders. “Want to tell me what you were doing in Rivaini’s room?”

He groaned. “Of course you noticed…”

“I know a walk of shame when I see one.”

Anders poured out more moonshine for both of them. Sitting back in his chair, he took another drink and shrugged. “Isabela offered to help me forget my troubles for a while.”

“Justice have anything to say about that?”

“This isn’t my first drink of the evening,” Anders admitted, nodding at the bottle. “I’ll probably pay for it later, but I think it was worth it.”

“Good for you, Blondie,” Varric said finally, thinking he might even mean it even though there was a catch of something in his throat that made him wonder. “You deserve a break,” he added, taking another drink quickly to hide any evidence of his inexplicable reaction. What was it about the idea of Anders and romance that made him worried? At least Isabela wasn’t likely to get her heart broken like Hawke might have.

When Anders focused on him with a frown, Varric was afraid that maybe he had caught his moment of whatever it was, but he changed the topic instead. “You don’t have to talk to me about why you’re so upset, but it might make you feel better if you did.”

Varric sighed, and now the emotions weighing heavily on his heart were easy to explain. “You’ve heard about Hawke’s mother, I assume?”

“Aveline mentioned something when she stopped by the other day.”

Startled by the idea that Aveline would go out of her way to see Anders, Varric studied the mage’s expression.

Seeing his curiosity, Anders smiled. “She came to lecture me about my work with the mage resistance. A guard got injured during our most recent rescue.” Smile fading, he continued, “She wouldn’t give me details about what happened with Leandra, but what little she said was shocking enough.”

“It was an awful thing.”

“How is Hawke holding up?”

“Not well.”

“I wish there was something I could do.”

“I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do.” Finishing off his glass and reaching out to fill it up again, he paused with his hand on the neck of the bottle. “Broody is beside himself with worry, but she’s threatened to kick him out because he’s being so protective. It’s as if she wants to pretend that nothing happened and she’s fine, but she can’t pretend the trauma away. It just keeps coming out in different ways.” He paused to fill his cup again. “She’s only taken on a few jobs since it happened, but she’s nearly given me a heart attack every time with her recklessness. I know time is the only thing that will let her heal, but if she keeps this up, I don’t know if she’ll survive long enough to get there.”

The words were getting harder to say as the alcohol numbed his tongue, and the room sloshed around woozily as he sat back in his chair. When everything settled again, he realized that Anders was watching him, a strange, longing sort of look in his eyes. Something about it made Varric feel even warmer than all the drink had, a heat that burned pleasantly down his spine and settled somewhere low in his gut. 

“Blondie?” he whispered and Anders startled, looking away quickly and sitting up straighter with a shaky breath.

“I should go.”

“Why?”

Ignoring his question, Anders closed his eyes and pushed his glass away. “And you shouldn’t drink any more of this stuff unless you want to have the worst hangover of your life.” 

He put the stopper back in the bottle and picked it up, wobbling a little as he carried it back to the shelf where Varric had found it. Varric wanted to protest, but his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and he decided it was easier just to watch Anders walking around the room instead. He was so tall. Varric had to crane his neck back to look at his face as Anders came to a stop beside him. The mage was biting his lower lip with concern and Varric’s gaze got stuck on his lips. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” Anders said finally. Reaching for Varric’s arm, Anders hauled him to his feet with a grunt, squirming a bit when Varric reached out to steady himself with a hand on his hip. He could feel bone beneath his fingers, minimally softened by Anders’ clothing and the thin layer of flesh beneath. Anders was so skinny. Varric needed to make sure he was eating enough. 

They staggered toward his bedroom, and Varric was still clinging to Anders’ coat when he rolled onto the bed, accidentally pulling the mage halfway down on top of him. Anders’ eyes went wide and he pushed himself up almost immediately, twisting out of Varric’s grip with a flush that colored his face and crept down his neck as well. Rolling him gently onto his side and propping a pillow behind his back so he would stay there, Anders said, “I’ll get you some water.”

Before he could walk away, Varric caught his arm and pulled him closer. “Blondie,” he said, and it came out more like a groan. Everything was hazy and indistinct, but Anders was so close and real and why had he never noticed how much he wanted to touch him before?

Anders yanked his arm out of Varric’s hand and darted away faster than Varric’s sluggish arm could follow. He felt a bit dizzy after that and let his head fall back onto the pillow. When he opened his eyes again, Anders was placing a glass of water on his bedside table and standing just out of reach. 

“Get some sleep,” he said, and Varric felt himself drifting off even before Anders finished his sentence.

When he woke up the next day, his head was pounding and his mouth tasted like rotten socks. He was lying uncomfortably on his side and he ached so much all over that his skin actually hurt, feeling too tight like it was stretched thin over his body and starting to crack. Then he saw the glass of water and managed to push himself up enough to reach for it. He spilled half of it down his chest in his eagerness to take a drink and it barely moistened his mouth at all, but he was still grateful. 

Pushing the pillows aside and falling onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling and tried to remember what had happened the night before. He remembered visiting Hawke and running into Anders in the hallway. He remembered the bottle of Grey Warden moonshine. But his memories quickly fell apart after that. Anders’ grin. The burn of alcohol on his throat. Talking about Hawke. And that was it, really. A few confused fragments that seemed to confirm he had needed Anders’ help to get to bed. None of it made much sense, but it all left him with the distinct feeling that he owed Anders an apology even though he had absolutely no idea why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of Grey Whiskey comes from Inquisition, but I liked the idea of including it here since it's something in the lore of the world.


	15. Remnants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events in this chapter were referenced in Hawke’s goodbye scene with Anders in The Wrong Man.

Anders and Justice had settled into an uneasy equilibrium since their close call in the tunnels beneath the Gallows. He didn’t fully trust the spirit anymore, but Justice had also become less tolerant of his human needs and weaknesses. They worked more, slept less and took fewer trips away from the clinic. That wasn’t difficult to do since Hawke never asked for his help these days. His recent trip to the Hanged Man was the first time he’d ventured out in over a week – and that had been a strange enough experience that he didn’t plan on doing it again for a while.

It had started out well enough. His time with Isabela had been a perfect escape, easy and free from burdens or emotional entanglements, just as he had expected. She had helped him remember what it felt like to live in the moment and for that brief time he’d felt the constant anxiety and anger fall away completely. He’d allowed himself to have fun and been reminded that a sense of mystery wasn’t the only thing that could make sex exciting. Isabela had plenty of ideas in that arena and he still had a few tricks of his own that came back easily in spite of the years he’d gone without, and they discovered that once their creativity started flowing the only limit was their own endurance. Anders wasn’t sure if they would get another opportunity to experiment but he suspected Isabela might seek him out again eventually to try. The only question was if Justice would allow him to accept the offer. 

But when Varric invited him in for a drink afterward, he hadn’t anticipated that the dwarf was drinking to get drunk. Although he enjoyed alcohol at least as much as the rest of them, Varric tended to stay on the sober side so that he could remember the details of their gatherings for use in future novels. But as soon as he pulled out that Grey Warden concoction, Anders had known where things were headed and realized that Varric was far from okay. Anders had knowingly fallen into the trap along with him, wanting an emotional connection even more than he’d wanted physical contact and they’d both drank more than they should have. Everything had gone a bit soft around the edges by the time he recognized Varric’s state and helped him to bed, but he hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be for him to keep his distance or how much the dwarf’s clumsy, inadvertent touches would affect him. 

What was worse was that for one moment Varric had looked at him and Anders had been convinced he’d finally seen the desire in the dwarf’s eyes that he’d been craving almost since their first meeting. Varric had reached out for him then and Anders had turned away, knowing he must. It was like the incident with Hawke all over again. Except ten times worse. He was also fully aware that even if he was right about what he’d seen in Varric’s eyes, the whole thing might have been nothing more than curiosity, and Anders didn’t think he could bear to have Varric show interest in him only for it to be a passing fancy or an opportunity to gather research for his writing.

So he avoided the Hanged Man and buried himself in work. And that was how he found himself sprawled awkwardly on the table he used to prepare potions and poultices when the sound of desperate shouts and pounding on the door woke him. Sitting up stiffly, he realized that he must have fallen asleep in spite of Justice’s ravings, his work half finished on the table around him. Startled from an unusually deep sleep, he was disoriented at first but had experienced enough late night emergencies to go through the motions of getting up and walking to the door without being fully awake.

To his surprise, Hawke was the one standing on the other side of the door this time, a frantic look in her blue eyes and a dazed and bloody Fenris hanging from her shoulders. The visceral sight of the two of them was enough to snap Anders fully into alertness. 

“Anders,” she gasped, hoarse from calling his name for who knew how long. “Hurry. I’m afraid he’s...” She glanced down at Fenris and he was startled by the raw anguish on her face even though he knew why she couldn’t say the words. 

Taking charge of the situation so Hawke didn’t feel like she had to, Anders helped Hawke maneuver Fenris into the room and onto one of the cots. The elf was mumbling under his breath, seemingly unaware of his surroundings, but for a moment his eyes focused on Anders and his gauntlet gripped at Anders’ coat with shocking strength considering his condition.

“Mage, what are you doing here?” he demanded in a feverish voice. “I might have guessed you had something to do with this!”

Eyes wide, Anders struggled to remove Fenris’ fingers from his coat, uncomfortable with how close the elf’s hand was to his heart and knowing that Fenris could kill him with a single strike if he tried. But Fenris’ face went slack then and he listed, going limp in Hawke’s arms as he lost consciousness. 

“Fenris,” she whispered, clutching at him and glaring up at Anders. “You have to save him.”

“I’ll do what I can,” he promised, surprised by how easy it was to set aside his feelings of rejection, his guilt over losing control to Justice and his fear that Hawke would never trust him again. Fenris was dying and Anders was the only one who could possibly prevent his death. None of the other details mattered.

There was so much blood. Anders was already covered in it and he’d barely touched the elf. He needed to stop the bleeding before he could manage anything else. Ripping tattered clothing aside and cataloging Fenris’ injuries, he applied a little magic to each to staunch the bleeding, but ran out of mana before he’d managed to accomplish much.

“It was a mage who did this to him,” Hawke said in an empty tone, one Anders had never heard from her before. “Another foolish mage who gave into temptation and made a deal with a demon.” 

Hawke continued to babble as Anders gathered bandages and supplies, draining a lyrium bottle quickly and trying to make the space around Fenris as sanitary as possible. 

“Why can none of you ever resist it? Don’t you have enough power already? Why do you always have to grab for more?”

Trying hard to ignore her sharp accusations – and Justice’s anger at her words – and focus on his work, Anders frowned when he saw just how pale Fenris was beneath all the blood and dirt. The wounds were numerous but shallow. The real problem was his loss of blood. But Fenris was tough, and with a little luck and the right potions, he would pull through.

“That mage pulled the blood right out of him,” Hawke continued. “She played with him like a puppet, just like –” Voice breaking, she shook her head and he suspected that she was talking about her mother and the vile madman who had killed her. “As strong as Fenris is, as much power as the damned magisters literally wove into his skin, it wasn’t enough. Magic is always stronger. That is why mages can’t be allowed to roam free. That’s why we have to keep an eye on all of you before you destroy us all!”

She was sobbing now, tears making paths in the grime on her face, and she was snarling at him as if he were to blame for what had happened instead of actively trying to fix it. Justice was writhing with fury beneath his skin and threatening to take control, but Anders kept a tight rein on him, using every scrap of control he had managed to learn over the last several weeks to keep the spirit at bay. From what he’d heard about it, Leandra’s death had put Hawke through hell, and she was seeking her own kind of justice for the crimes that had been done to her family. She was blaming him and all of his fellow mages now because she needed a clear target, not because she actually thought that all mages were evil. Her own sister was a mage, after all. Even if Justice couldn’t understand her pain, Anders did, and he knew she needed time and space to work through it.

Finally, after drinking enough lyrium to make himself feel lightheaded and woozy, Anders managed to stabilize Fenris. Hawke was still raving, but he’d stopped listening. Wrapping bandages over the freshly healed cuts in case the quick patchwork he’d been forced to do didn’t hold, he finished his work and finally sat down in a chair with relief, feeling hollowed out by all the magic he had worked in the last hour after a long day and insufficient sleep.

“Will he make it?” Hawke asked finally, the desperation in her eyes more than Anders could handle looking at directly. 

“I think so,” he replied, gathering up the mess of cloth and extra bandages. Fenris looked small and vulnerable on the cot once they were gone.

“I can’t lose him,” Hawke said, the fear in her voice rising again. “Not now, not after everything that’s happened. Do you have any idea what he’s been through in his life? And now, because of me and my stubbornness, he’s lying there fighting to survive. He said that we should bring someone else along, that the job seemed shady, and he was right. But I wanted to spend time with him alone. I should have known better, but I never listen…” Hawke’s voice was rising in pitch and intensity and her breaths were coming short and fast between her sobs.

Tossing all the leftover bandages and poultices on a table to clean up later, Anders searched his shelf for the calming potion he gave to anxious patients. Returning to her side, he sat down next to her on the cot beside Fenris and held out the potion. “Drink this.”

Eyes narrowing, she looked at the open bottle. “What’s that?” She was tearing at the edge of her tunic, fingers white-knuckled as she gripped the fabric. 

He sighed, realizing that in her current state she didn’t trust that he had her best interests in mind. “Something that will make you feel better.”

“I doubt that.” But then she threw back the potion and swallowed. Wiping her mouth, she grimaced. “Whatever that is, it tastes horrible.” It was too early for the potion to do much good yet, but the interruption to the flow of her rant seemed to have already calmed her a little. 

“There’s nothing to do now but wait,” Anders said, looking at Fenris for the reassurance of seeing the slow rise and fall of his chest. Despite all their differences, he didn’t actually want to see Fenris die. “I’ve done what I can. The rest is up to him now.” When he shifted his attention back to Hawke, he was surprised to find her staring at him.

“Anders...” she said softly, looking at him with wide eyes as if she’d only just now recognized him. Her eyes filled up with tears then and she wiped at them angrily as if her body was betraying her with the emotion. “I don’t know why you continue to help me when I’m always so awful to you…”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t even know how to meet her gaze when she was so raw and exposed. It was a little difficult to remember her kindness after she spent the last hour raving at him about how all mages should be kept under lock and key, but he did his best to honor the entirety of their relationship and not just the last year. “We disagree about a lot of things that are important to me,” he said cautiously, “but I have no doubt that I would be in the Gallows by now–or worse–if it weren’t for your protection.”

“I’d probably be dead by now without you.” She shifted to look at Fenris. “We all would.” Swallowing hard, she took a shaky breath. “I wish I’d brought you with me that day… I don’t know if there would have been anything you could have done, but now I’ll never know. You’ve heard about it by now, I’m sure. What happened to mother...” Her hands clenched in her lap, twisting over each other as she continued. “That blood mage turned her into a monster. He had been kidnapping women for parts for years, trying to recreate the love of his life from pieces he carved out of the women he killed, and my mother…her face was so similar to the woman in his painting.”

Anders shivered. No one had been willing to tell him the details of what had happened, not even Varric who rarely hesitated to tell a story. Anders had imagined some awful things, but this was beyond imagining. 

“You remember Ninette?” she asked, looking up at him. “The woman we searched for a few years ago, the one with the awful husband who only wanted to find her so that he could get her family off his back?”

Cringing at the memory, he nodded.

“Quentin used her as part of his...creation as well.”

“That’s…” Anders shook his head. “Disturbed.”

“I should have seen it coming, Anders. I knew about the lilies and the way he lured his victims. Even Gamlen figured out something was wrong before me. Gamlen!”

Unsure how to comfort her, Anders hesitantly rested a hand on her shuddering back. “You can’t blame yourself.”

Rounding on him with such speed that the movement caught him completely off guard, she snarled, “The hell I can’t. After father and Carver died and Bethany joined the Grey Wardens, I was the one who was supposed to take care of her. She was my responsibility.”

“Hawke, she was a grown woman. You can’t be responsible for everything she did.” 

Her lower lip trembled with emotion and she hit him in the chest hard enough that he suspected it would leave a bruise. “I could have warned her. I could have taken the time to actually listen to her when she talked about how she was spending her days. But I was always too busy. Too important.” 

When she raised a fist to hit him again, he caught her wrist. “Hawke,” he said to get her attention. She was yelling at him but didn’t even seem to be seeing him anymore. “What happened isn’t your fault.”

Face crumpling with emotion, she cried, “I should have brought you with me. I’ve been so petty. I knew that mother would likely need healing when I found her, but I didn’t want to admit I needed you.”

Anders sighed. “From what you’ve told me, I don’t see how I could have done anything to help her. I won’t use blood magic, and it sounds like that was all that was keeping her alive at the end.”

Either that had been the wrong thing to say or the dam of emotion had finally broken under the strain of her cumulative losses and the fear of losing Fenris as well, because she began crying in earnest then, releasing all the pain she’d been keeping bottled up for weeks. Worried about overstepping the unspoken boundary between them, he held his arms open to her and was relieved when she leaned forward and buried her face against his chest, shaking with silent sobs. According to Aveline, she hadn’t shown much emotion since her initial reaction to her mother’s death, going through the motions of her daily life as if nothing had changed, but that emotion hadn’t simply disappeared. It had to go somewhere.

She clung to him desperately as she cried, and Anders tried not to make more of the moment than it was. He was simply the only person available in the moment when she finally lost the battle against her grief. But it still felt nice to hold her in spite of the circumstances, to be able to do something with her other than argue. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, how long she lingered in his arms even after her tears had dried, but he didn’t hold her too tightly, knowing that she would pull away when she was ready. 


	16. Escape Plan

Looking back, Anders should have realized something was going on with Isabela a while ago. They all knew she had only two reasons for sticking around in Kirkwall: first, she needed a new ship, and second, she had to find the relic she’d lost in her shipwreck and deliver it to her former business partner before he got tired of waiting and decided to kill her outright. But Isabela didn’t talk about either of these things much and didn’t appear to be working very hard on finding a solution for them, so it was easy to forget that they even mattered to her at all.

Anders' first clue that something was off was when she went a whole night without winning a single hand of Wicked Grace. Winning at cards was something she could practically do in her sleep since she was so accustomed to cheating that it was like second nature. Of course, she played with several fellow cheaters, so she didn’t win every hand, but she won more than she lost. Usually. But she’d been distracted the whole evening, sipping at her ale and staring off into space and paying so little attention to the game that the others had to prompt her frequently to take her turn. 

“What is going on with you tonight, Rivaini?” Varric asked, collecting the cards and beginning to shuffle them with deft movements – probably stacking the deck in his favor as he went.

“Me?” Isabela said in surprise. “Nothing. Just tired. Someone kept me up all night.” A slow, sensual smile spread over her lips and she reached for Anders’ thigh under the table. 

Although Anders tried not to react, he could feel heat crawling up his neck. He felt Hawke studying him with squinted eyes from across the table. She was draped halfway over Fenris, and until now she had been focused almost exclusively on the elf. “Wait,” she said suddenly, slapping a hand on top of her cards and scattering them. “I know I’ve been preoccupied lately, but did I miss something?”

“You’ll have to be more specific, Hawke,” Varric said, studying his own cards.

“Anders. And. Isabela.” She said each word distinctly, pointing a finger at each of them in turn.

“Oh, that,” Varric chuckled knowingly and Anders winced at how casually he said it.

Avoiding everyone’s gaze, Anders lifted his cards and stared down at them without actually seeing them, but Isabela laughed at all the attention instead, her hand drifting up his leg and brushing against a sensitive spot that made him suck in a breath involuntarily. Giving her an annoyed look, he shifted his leg to shake her off and regretted the action when it only pushed her hand closer to the parts he was trying to avoid.

“How long has this been going on?” Hawke demanded, her finger shifting back and forth between them. On some level, he was relieved to see that she had recovered enough from her grief to take interest in something else, but he really didn’t want to be the focus of anyone’s attention in relation to this particular topic. 

It wasn’t as if this thing between him and Isabela could even be called a relationship, more of a mutually beneficial arrangement. They didn’t give each other sappy looks like Hawke and Fenris did, or look for reasons to touch each other outside the bedroom. Isabela’s teasing under the table now was something new and not something he’d expected from her, but at this point it was just one more thing that wasn’t adding up about her behavior.

“It’s been going on for weeks now,” Aveline said dryly, shocking the hell out of Anders. He knew the Guard-Captain was observant, but he thought they’d been careful. 

“Weeks?!” Hawke straightened, mouth dropping open. 

“What are we talking about?” Sebastian asked innocently, peering over his cards with a frown.

Merrill leaned toward him conspiratorially. “Isabela and Anders are doing the dirty.” Looking up in irritation, Anders glared at the chirpy little elf. If even Merrill had figured it out then apparently they had been doing a horrible job of hiding anything. 

Isabela laughed again and lifted her hand to his cheek, brushing her knuckles over the warm skin. “Stop, kitten. You’re making Anders blush. Honestly, I hadn’t thought that was even possible, and I’ve been trying, believe me.”

“Rivaini,” Varric said sharply, “if you’re going to start sharing details, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Good idea,” she said, plucking the cards from Anders’ hands and tossing her own on the table as well. “Come on, sparkle fingers.”

“I told you that nickname in confidence,” Anders complained under his breath, but he let her drag him to his feet, doing his best to ignore Justice’s complaints in the back of his mind. The spirit had already been irritated that he’d decided to join the others at the Hanged Man after so recently indulging in a night with Isabela, but he would get over it. In fact, while Anders hadn’t initially intended to make his encounters with Isabela into a habit, he was finding that focusing on his body’s needs was actually helping him find a better equilibrium with the spirit.

Isabela didn’t waste any time once they reached her room, so eager that she didn’t bother to remove more than the most essential bits of clothing before she got down to business, shoving him back onto the bed and perching above him, utterly in control and demanding. Isabela did prefer to be on top, but she didn’t usually start things in that position, enjoying a little give and take before they got there. It was a sign of how desperate she was now that she forced him into this position so quickly, and in spite of her teasing tone with the others, she was out of sorts and needier than he’d ever seen her.

When they’d both finished, she looked down at him with a strange expression on her face, one he’d never seen her make before. Then she bent down and kissed him, and it felt different from the way they usually kissed, slow and thorough and full of some emotion he couldn’t identify. The fact that it contained any emotion at all was enough to shock him. Isabela had been utterly clear about the fact that this thing between them was not to involve feelings, but now she was kissing him like she wanted to memorize his taste. When she finally came up for air, she pulled away with a wild look in her eyes, chest heaving against her bodice as she gasped for breath. He wanted to ask her what was going on, why she had crossed this unspoken line between them, but she spoke before he could find the right words. 

“Varric said that you wanted to run away after what happened under the Gallows with Justice,” she said, still a little breathless. “Do you still want to leave Kirkwall?

“What?” Even if he’d had a thousand guesses he never would have seen this particular topic coming. They had never talked about what happened that day. In fact, other than warning him from the beginning that she would end this arrangement the moment Justice made his presence known, she’d not even acknowledged the spirit.

Shaking her head, she lifted herself off of him and flopped onto her back. “Forget it.”

He rolled onto his side to look at her. “No. You don’t get to bring up something like that and then immediately drop it.”

“I was just curious,” she said, flinging an arm over her eyes to hide them from his scrutiny.

Anders sighed. “If I were going to run away I would have done it by now. I know how to make a quick escape and I don’t hesitate when I get the urge to flee. But Varric can be very persuasive.”

Peering up at him from beneath her arm, she asked, “So he convinced you to stay?”

“For now. Why are you asking?”

She didn’t reply right away, and he couldn’t tell if she was considering how much to tell him or if she was trying to think her way out of the conversation entirely. “I never planned to be here this long. I thought I'd take care of business, find myself a new ship and be on my way. But it’s been years now. I’ve never stayed in a single place this long.” 

Unsure what she wanted from him at this point, Anders remained silent. They didn’t do this. They used each other in as many creative ways as they could manage, but they didn’t have heart-to-heart talks in the intimate gloom of her bedroom during the afterglow.

“I think it’s going to be time for me to move on soon.” 

And that gave him pause. It wasn’t like they’d made promises to each other or anything. But he didn’t like the idea of her leaving, and he didn’t think it was only because he had ulterior motives for keeping her around. 

She pushed herself into a sitting position and slid to the end of the bed. 

He followed, catching her arm before she could stand up and slip away. “If you’re trying to ask me something, Isabela, I wish you’d just come out and say it.”

She laughed, and it was a bit too raw for her usual laughter. “I’m not asking you anything. Don’t turn this into something sentimental.”

He felt anger flare in his chest at that. He wasn’t the one who had started this conversation and she was the one breaking all their unspoken rules.

“Sorry to cut things short, but I think I’m done for the night. You know your way out.” Standing up, she walked over to the battered dresser in the corner of the room and turned her back on him, beginning to remove her jewelry one piece at a time. He’d never seen her take it off before.

Stunned by how quickly things had shifted, he sat on the end of the bed and went through the motions of putting himself back in order while feeling an uneasy dread clenching at the pit of his stomach. He wanted to ask what was wrong, wanted to know what had changed to make her start thinking this way, but she had made it clear she didn’t intend to confide in him. Torn between respecting her boundaries and worrying over a friend, he debated about whether he should say anything at all, but he’d never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

“Would you tell me if you were in trouble?”

She looked back over her shoulder with an exasperated expression. “If I’d known you’d take everything so seriously, I wouldn’t have told you anything at all.”

And that shattered any remaining illusions he might still have that she had let him past her guard. He nodded and turned away, swallowing the lump in his throat as he walked to the door. Pausing with his hand on the knob, he said, “I hope you’ll talk to someone, at least. Whatever is going on, you don’t have to face it alone.” 

Then he stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him, dreading his walk past Varric’s room and wishing there was another way out of the tavern. Listening at the door, he waited for a moment when the group sounded sufficiently distracted to duck by the open doorway and down the stairs. If anyone noticed him, they didn’t call him out.

The next several days passed slowly, an unusual heat wave rolling through the city and making Darktown even muggier and smellier than usual. He kept himself occupied in his clinic and did his best to ignore his worries over Isabela’s strange behavior. But when he heard the shouts outside and the clashes of metal, his instincts told him that whatever was happening had something to do with her. 

He quickly learned that the Qunari were attacking the city, setting fire to the buildings and rounding up all the most important people at the Viscount’s keep. The theory was that they would either kill the prisoners or force them to convert to the Qun. Anders had no doubt that Hawke and her friends were at the heart of the chaos and fighting to save the city as best they could, but he didn’t run off to join them, focusing instead on what he did best, healing all the hurt and dying left behind by the fighting. Justice drove him onward even when exhaustion overwhelmed him and he didn’t return to his clinic until dawn the next morning, limping back through the doorway and relieved to find that by some miracle his clinic hadn’t been ransacked while he was away. He didn’t own much of value and he’d taken most of his supplies along with him, so it wasn’t as if there was a lot to be plundered, but the Qunari seemed more interested in destroying everything in their path than looting.

Dropping his nearly empty bag of supplies just inside the door, he closed and latched the door behind him and walked wearily across the room to the nearest chair. When he saw the bottle laying on the table beside it, he frowned and took a closer look. An intricate ship had been constructed inside the bottle. He’d seen it on Isabela’s dresser before and she’d rolled her eyes when he asked about it, saying it was a gift from Hawke to remind her of what a useless pirate she was. He doubted that Hawke had meant anything cruel by the gift, but Isabela had always been sensitive about the subject of her lost ship.

Leaning over to get a better look at the bottle, he noticed that there was a note tucked underneath. The foreboding feeling that had been squeezing his insides while he wandered through the city’s destruction took a firmer grip now. Taking a deep breath, he opened the letter, immediately recognizing Isabela’s incongruously fine handwriting.

> Anders:
> 
> I got the relic back and now I’m off to bargain for my life. Tell Hawke not to blame herself. I understand why she made the choice she did.
> 
> Now it’s my turn to get sentimental. I was half hoping you wouldn’t be here when I stopped by, but part of me was still disappointed to find your clinic empty. I’m leaving Kirkwall and won’t be coming back. I thought it might have been nice to run away with someone else for a change, but it’s probably for the best that things worked out this way. Don’t let that stick in the mud get the better of you. You deserve more than you think.
> 
> Farewell for now. Who knows? Maybe we’ll run across each other again someday. It’s happened before. 
> 
> Isabela
> 
> P.S. Tell Varric I’m sorry for disappointing him.

He put the note down with a shaky hand, feeling sad and angry in equal measure. What would he have done if he’d been there when she came by? Would he have gone with her? Would Justice have let him do it even if he’d wanted to? He had no answers.

Tortured by these thoughts, he was almost relieved when he heard a knock at the door. With significant effort, he pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room, unlocking the door and pulling it open with only the fragilest hope that she might be standing outside, that she had changed her mind. But he found Varric standing there instead, his hand already reaching into his pocket for his lockpicks. Judging by the state of him, he had been in the middle of the battle but he didn’t appear to be injured, looking up at Anders with a mixture of hope and worry.

“Is she here?”

Anders sighed. “No. She left a note. But she’s gone.”

Cursing under his breath, Varric said, “When she ran off to get that book a part of me knew she wasn’t coming back, but I had hoped…”

“What happened?”

Realizing there was no point in urgency now, Varric followed Anders inside with sluggish steps and they both sat down wearily at the table. Picking up the ship in a bottle with a wistful expression, Varric frowned at it as he began his story. Apparently both Aveline and Isabela had gone to Hawke at the same time to ask for help, Aveline with a diplomatic issue related to the Qunari and Isabela with news about her missing relic. Hawke had chosen the needs of the many over the needs of the few, recognizing that trouble with the Qunari would lead to a much worse fate than the death of a single woman, even if that woman was her friend. She had promised to help Isabela after she’d resolved things with the Qunari, but then the Qunari attacked the city anyway and Isabela disappeared.

“Isabela knew what the damn relic was from the beginning,” Varric said, jaw taut with irritation, “an ancient tome that the Qunari wanted back badly enough that they couldn’t leave the city without it.”

Anders gaped at him in shock. “Isabela’s relic is the reason the Qunari refused to leave the city all these years?”

“I mean, I’ve always known she was selfish, but I thought she would have come back when she realized the city was burning because of what she’d done.” He put the bottle down delicately in spite of his annoyance. “It’s all moot now. The Viscount is dead at the Arishok’s hands and now the Arishok is dead too.”

“She knew you would be disappointed in her,” Anders said sadly, offering him Isabela’s letter.

Varric read it with a frown and looked up at Anders with a strange expression when he finished. “Blondie…”

“I don’t know what I would have done,” he said before Varric could ask the question. “I don’t know if she would have even asked.” Smiling fondly, he shook his head. “I think it was a lot easier for her to put something like that in a letter than it would have been for her to say it out loud.”

“You’re probably right.” Varric pursed his lips as he folded the note and placed it gently down on the table. “Still, I’m glad I didn’t lose two friends today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It pains me to choose this outcome for Isabela because I really like the character growth we see in her if she chooses to return. It also makes me sad to not be writing about her anymore here, but I think this choice makes the most sense for this version of the story. She was starting to turn into a crutch for Anders and no one can save him from himself (and Justice) since we have to end up in the same place as the game in order for The Wrong Man to work. Still...it makes me a little sad.


	17. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next several chapters describe the Legacy DLC for the game.

Hawke looked across the chasm at the imposing Grey Warden prison on the other side, a frown settling into her features. She had started this journey with the expectation that they were going to discover some crazy person with a grudge against her family, but this was more than a grudge. This was family history that she hadn’t even known existed.

“Looks like we’re going into the Deep Roads again,” Bethany said with a sigh, leaning against the railing beside her. “Now I see why you wanted me along.”

Turning to look at her, Hawke’s frown deepened. It was a relief to see her sister again, even though it was painful to see how much she had changed, her soft features turned hard and sharp around the edges, sculpted by the harsh demands of life as a Warden. But it was her eyes that haunted Hawke the most, blue eyes dark and stormy with bitterness and anger. Although they had been twins, Bethany and Carver had never been anything alike, but now Bethany reminded Hawke painfully of her lost brother. Carver had always been jealous and bitter, and while Bethany’s reasons for the emotions were completely different — jealousy of Hawke’s chance at a normal life and bitterness about the way her own had been taken away from her — she didn’t bother to hide her feelings.

“No. That’s why I brought Anders,” Hawke said softly. “He has at least as much experience with the Deep Roads as you do.”

“Does he?” Bethany asked sourly. “I hear he was with the Wardens less than a year before he left. I’ve been with them over three.”

That caught Hawke off guard. The way Anders talked about that part of his life she’d always imagined it had lasted much longer. “Really?”

Still glowering, Bethany pushed away from the railing. “Not all of us are lucky enough to escape them.”

“If you call nearly becoming an abomination lucky.” They both turned in surprise to see Anders standing at the edge of the cliff, arms crossed over his chest as he looked down into the chasm with a sad smile. Lifting his gaze to look at Bethany, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Bethany. I wish there had been another way to save you.”

The ice in Bethany’s eyes melted a fraction, but she remained silent.

“Hate to break up the guilt fest,” Varric said from the gate ahead, “but we have more crazy dwarves incoming.”

Hawke was grateful for the distraction and took her frustration out on the dwarves with the milky white eyes, tearing through them with more force than was probably necessary. She’d been fighting these Carta mercenaries for days in Kirkwall and hours in this forsaken place and she was no closer to getting real answers, other than learning that they were after her blood because of something her father had done. They’d finally gotten a little more out of a dwarf Varric knew named Gerav, but even that had been mostly nonsensical ramblings about a master they were trying to free and how all the dwarves had started drinking darkspawn blood to “hear the song.” That phrase seemed a little too like Bartrand’s ravings at the end for Hawke, but other than being found in the Deep Roads, the lyrium idol he found hadn’t had anything to do with darkspawn.

Cleaning off her daggers after they’d dispatched the last wave of attackers, she walked back to where Varric was crouched by his friend’s body, wondering if he had made the connection as well. 

“So this guy is the one who built your crossbow?” Anders was asking Varric.

Varric looked up with a smirk. “Gerav wasn’t able to get the first dozen prototypes to work, but Bianca has always been special.”

Hawke laughed, relieved to have a reason to do so. “This must be the third or fourth explanation you have given for the origin of that thing. I wonder which one is the truth?”

Standing up, Varric continued to smile but didn’t reply.

“Probably none of them,” Anders said with a sigh. “Why do I fall for that every time?”

“Because you’re an easy mark, Blondie.”

“Who is she anyway?” Bethany asked suddenly. “The woman you named your crossbow after?”

Hawke and Anders exchanged a glance. 

“What?” Bethany asked innocently. “I’ve always wondered.”

“That’s a story I’ll never tell,” Varric replied, touching Bianca’s stock tenderly as he walked away, and Hawke saw that Anders was mouthing the words along with her as Varric said them.

“As if none of us ever bothered to ask,” Hawke teased Bethany softly when Varric was out of earshot. 

“Well, it’s not like I would know, would I?” Anger flaring in her eyes, Bethany stalked off after Varric.

Hawke sighed and pressed a finger between her brows, trying to ease the headache Bethany’s sarcasm was giving her. When she lifted her head again, Anders was giving her a sympathetic look. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt such an affinity with him, but maybe it had something to do with the way this trip felt eerily similar their first journey into the Deep Roads all those years ago. When she found out Bethany would be able to meet them in the Vimmark mountains, she’d known she had to bring Varric and Anders along. Fenris had protested persuasively, but she had been both yearning and dreading to see her sister again, and she’d known that only the people who had been there when she lost Bethany in the first place would understand why this was so hard for her. 

Touching her arm lightly as he passed, Anders left her with her thoughts and she eventually roused herself to follow him. 

The second half of the descent was much like the first, bloody fights, crazed dwarves spouting nonsense and a weapon that seemed to bond with her blood as soon as she picked it up. Just another day in the life of Kirkwall’s Champion. But then they came across demons sealed into cages and heard the echoes of a voice chanting the words that would renew the seal along with a few adjoining echoes of the unseen mage’s thoughts.

Bethany recognized the voice first and looked at Hawke with wide eyes. She had always been closer to their father, unsurprising considering their shared bond through their magic, but Hawke found herself equally affected once she knew. It was hard to hear his voice now so soon after losing her mother. But at least they were together now. Them and Carver. 

“He used to say that all the time,” Bethany said, looking more now like the sister Hawke remembered than she had since they’d reunited. “Serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base.” Biting her lip, she added, “He was talking about you when he talked about the baby, you know? He must have come here when he and mother were fleeing Kirkwall.”

Hawke nodded. “He said something about buying our freedom...”

Looking away, Bethany said, “He also said that he hoped you would take after mother instead of him. I wonder how disappointed he was when he learned I had inherited his magic. What would he think of me now?”

“He would be proud of you,” Hawke said firmly. “Just like I am.”

Bethany blinked at her in surprise and Hawke couldn’t stand the look in her eyes, not bitterness this time, but something vulnerable and sad. Turning away, Hawke walked on, wiping irritably at the blurriness in her eyes. 

They had been fighting darkspawn instead of the Carta for a while now, but she was surprised to find a human on the other side of the bridge leading to the prison. At least she thought he was a human. Decrepit and limping, the man had a glimmer of insanity in his rheumy eyes and was ragged in appearance, tufts of hair sticking out of his scalp at all angles as if he had made a habit of yanking it out in chunks. But he was also wearing Grey Warden armor.

The others caught up to her before she managed to get a complete thought out of the man — Larius, as he finally introduced himself. He claimed that the prison had been built to contain a strange creature named Corypheus, a darkspawn that could think and speak and command other darkspawn to do its bidding in the same way that the archdemons did during the Blights. Apparently this “awakened” darkspawn was literally waking up from its slumber now. Because they needed more things to worry about.

“He calls!” Larius cried, gesticulating wildly. “He calls them to free him. The dark children and the light, any with taint in their blood.”

“That’s why the dwarves were drinking darkspawn blood,” Bethany gasped. “But if he calls to those with taint in their blood, I should be hearing it too.”

Anders looked at her in surprise. “You mean you can’t hear it? None of you can?”

Hawke tensed. Why was it that Anders always ended up becoming a liability? Usually it was Justice and his lack of control over the spirit, but now they had this Corypheus to worry about too. Was he just weak to this sort of thing or did the fact that he had already been compromised make him more vulnerable to other influences? Maybe it hadn’t been such a great idea to bring him along after all. She’d thought he would be fine since he’d gone several years now without an incident, but she should have known better than to think he was completely reliable or safe.

“You hold the key,” Larius said suddenly, drawing her attention back to him as he pointed at the dagger in her hands, the one that had bonded with her as soon as she picked it up. “The key to his death. Yes, I can show you the way, yes. Not crazy, no. Trust me. I know the prison’s secrets. Each level has a blood-magic seal that allows people to enter but not leave.” Hopping wildly over the ruined bridge, the strange little man waved at them to follow.

“I feel such confidence in our guide.” Varric sighed. 

Looking back at Anders when Larius was gone, Hawke crowded him back against a broken column. “Why didn’t you say anything about the voices?”

Eyes narrowing as she stepped into his personal space, he shook his head. “I thought all of you were hearing it too.”

“Or maybe you just thought it was Justice? I mean, it must be hard to tell the difference between one voice and another.”

“Hawke,” Varric said gently, but it was obvious by his tone that he thought she was being too harsh.

“Find a way to control it, Anders. We don’t need another enemy to fight.”

Anders’ expression hardened, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes before he looked away. “I understand.”

Even Bethany seemed startled by her behavior, but Hawke ignored them all as she walked away. She should have brought Fenris instead. Why did she keep making the same mistake over and over again? Anders could be charming when he managed to talk about anything other than his cause, and he was the best healer she’d ever seen, but he had a fatal weakness that was going to get them all killed one day if she didn’t stop him first. But she would stop him first. One way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tweaked things a bit here because after replaying Legacy I found it really weird that Bethany doesn’t comment on the voice but Anders practically falls apart because of it. Obviously, Anders has been a warden slightly longer than her, but not that much. Anyway, some of the dialog didn’t quite make sense to me so I tweaked it here.


	18. Voices

Anders protested when Hawke suggested they take a break, eager to press on and reach their goal before he succumbed to Corypheus’ calling, and even with as tired as he was from all the walking and fighting Varric was inclined to agree with him. They were in a test of endurance and Anders was losing the battle with every step. But Hawke insisted, her eyes also lingering on Anders as she leaned against a collapsing building and began cleaning her blade. Perhaps she thought a rest would help him recover enough strength to keep fighting.

While the others rested, Varric soothed away his own weariness with a little mental stimulation. He’d been curious ever since they came across the Legion of the Dead armor at the base of the tower, so he occupied himself by searching around for the remains of more dead dwarves, slowly piecing together the story of what had happened to them and realizing that it was a more personal tale for him than he’d expected. The Legionnaires had come to the Warden Prison in search of Tethras Garen, the paragon Varric’s own clan had been renamed to honor. But he still didn’t know if they had ever found him. 

Searching around the swampy ground for more clues, he saw the glint of armor on the other side of a sunken building but paused when he saw Anders sitting on a rock beside it with his back to Varric. He watched as Anders struggled out of his coat and lifted his shirt with a hiss of pain, frowning when he saw the bloody gash on the mage’s back. How long had Anders had been walking around with that injury and continuing to fight without complaint? 

Face pale, Anders twisted to look over his shoulder, maneuvering awkwardly to reach his back with a healing spell. 

“Blondie,” Varric said gently to announce his presence, wary of startling the mage in the middle of a spell. “That looks nasty. And difficult to reach. Anything I can do to help?”

Anders glanced up at him and shook his head. “I’m almost finished.” And his magic ceased a moment later. Letting his hand fall heavily to his lap when he was done, he slumped and panted a bit to catch his breath. It was hard to tell if the wound was actually gone with all the dried blood still clinging to his skin, but Varric had a niggling suspicion that Anders hadn’t completely healed it. 

Moving closer, he reached out to brush some of the blood away and frowned when Anders flinched. The skin was closed now but it was still puckered and tender. “You call that finished?”

“Finished enough,” Anders said evenly, staring out across the swampy ground.

Kneeling beside the armor peeking out of the dirt and searching around for a note or journal, Varric shook his head. “Sometimes I think you are actively trying to get yourself killed, Blondie.”

“Would that be so bad? Better than waiting for me to lose control and do something far worse.”

Varric looked up at him, hating how sensible Anders sounded when he said such things. When he talked about mages suffering or templars grasping for more power, his voice was full of passion and fervor. But when he talked about his own death it was calm and matter of fact as if he was only stating a logical conclusion. “You’re as bad as all these dwarves,” Varric muttered, finally finding the warrior’s final note and scanning over it quickly. “They all came down here to rescue someone and got trapped instead without ever finding him.”

“That’s Legion of the Dead armor,” Anders observed, looking closer. 

“And how do you know that?”

“I had a friend in the Wardens who wore armor like that. Sigrun.” A smile tugged at his lips. “I thought someone who declared themselves dead would be pretty depressing, but she was surprisingly full of life.”

“I wish you’d find some inspiration in that and start taking better care of yourself.” Varric raised his head to give Anders a pointed look, but the mage was too distracted to notice, a hand pressed against his temple and his eyes squeezed shut. “The voices again?”

“It’s just the one voice,” Anders said through gritted teeth. “Mumbling and incoherent. But it doesn’t seem to matter that I can’t understand what it’s saying because I can feel what it wants me to do. It’s just like the Calling.” Taking a shaky breath, he pressed his palms against his knees, straightened, and seemed to win the battle temporarily. Eyes still closed, he let his head fall back on his shoulders as if it took too much effort to hold it up. “Most of the time I forget the fact that I’m a Warden. How they changed me seems insignificant compared to Justice’s influence, but one day the Calling will lead me to the Deep Roads no matter how much I’d rather be anywhere else. It’s a part of me as much as Justice is and there’s nothing I can do to change either one.”

Varric wanted to tell Anders to stop being so morose, but he had to admit that as annoying and miserable as he could be at times, Anders actually had a lot of legitimate reasons for being so tortured. 

Opening his eyes again and reaching for his coat, Anders frowned at the torn fabric before shrugging into it with a pinch of pain between his brows. What he needed was a brand new coat, but Varric suspected that the next time he saw him there would be a new patch on this ratty old one instead. Maybe Varric could dig something up for him that would suit. 

“I shouldn’t have come here,” Anders said with a sigh. “I’m as much of a danger to all of you as everything else in this place.”

“Maybe,” Varric admitted. “But you’re even more dangerous to our enemies. So give yourself a little credit, will you?”

A shadow of a smile crossed Anders’ lips and he nodded. “Thank you, Varric. You always keep me honest.”

“One of us has to be.”

“Ready to go?” Hawke asked, appearing at the corner of the building with Bethany in tow. 

As they continued their journey into the tower, Larius told them more about the prison and admitted that he had been there when Hawke’s father renewed the seals. And now Hawke was dismantling her father’s work one seal at a time. Anders became more desperate with every seal she destroyed, as if the seals had been the only thing preventing Corypheus’ call from controlling him in the first place.

“It’s getting worse,” Bethany whispered, meeting Varric’s eyes with worry. “We have to find a way to calm him down,” 

“Any ideas, Sunshine?”

She shook her head, black curls shifting around her heart-shaped face. “Now that I know what it is, I realize I’m actually hearing it as well, but the voice is quiet and distant, like the sound of talking in another room. It doesn’t seem to be like that for him.”

“Stop!” Anders shouted suddenly, stumbling against the wall and covering his ears. “Just make him stop talking. I can’t shut him out. I will not...” Straightening, blue lightning rippling over his body, he finished in a deeper voice, “be controlled.”

“Shit,” Varric hissed, seeing Hawke drawing her daggers and turning to face Anders with a cold, determined expression on her face. 

Justice lashed out at them, so disoriented that he saw everyone around him as an enemy, but Hawke got there first, pinning Anders back against the wall with two brutal strikes, the blade of one dagger pressed against his throat while the other was poised above his heart.

“I’ll kill both of you if you can’t calm down,” she said, the words angry and clipped.

“Hawke,” Varric cautioned her, moving closer. 

“Stay back,” she snapped. “You’re too soft on him. And this one only understands force.”

Tilting his head, Justice looked out through Anders’ eyes with a puzzled expression. “You don’t want to hurt him,” he said in wonder.

“I don’t,” Hawke agreed. “But I won’t hesitate if you can’t control yourself.”

Encouraged by the curiosity in Justice’s eyes, Varric moved closer. “Justice,” he said gently, trying not to get intimidated when the spirit focused its blazing gaze directly on him. “Anders needs your help right now. You were a Warden once too, weren’t you? You should know what the Calling is like.” He was really going out on a limb now. He had no idea if spirits could be affected by something like that or if it was even possible for them to become a Grey Warden in the same way a mortal could. 

Justice blinked at him. “I have sensed it through Anders.”

“He told me once that you sometimes help him block out the darkspawn dreams. Can you do the same thing with Corypheus’ voice?” Varric reached out to grasp Anders’ arm, half-expecting to feel static electricity against his skin with all the blue lightning still rippling over him, but the energy was like gossamer and barely substantial. “If you want to help Anders now, that’s what he needs.”

Giving Hawke another look, Justice nodded finally. “Put away your weapons, and I will try to do as you ask.”

Hawke stepped away with reluctance, lips pursed as she returned the blades to the sheaths on her back. “This had better work,” she whispered to Varric.

But Anders slumped a moment later, the glow fading from his skin. Varric caught him around the waist to keep him on his feet, peering up at his face in worry. But when the mage’s eyes fluttered open, they were weary but calm. “What happened?”

“You went away for a bit. How’s your head?”

Anders considered this, and then smiled faintly. “Better. I can barely hear Corypheus anymore. What did you do?”

Realizing that he was still holding him, Varric released his grip self-consciously and took a step back. “Me? Nothing.”

“You can thank Justice,” Hawke explained, looking surprised by this fact even as she said it. “He agreed to give you a hand.”

Eyes wide, Anders asked, “You spoke to him?”

“Varric did,” Bethany said, and the warm smile of admiration she gave him then made Varric a little uncomfortable. “He was brilliant.”

“I’m just glad it worked.” Varric rubbed at the back of his neck and turned away to hide his worry. All he could think about was the look in Hawke’s eyes when she turned on Anders. If he lost control again, Varric didn’t think she would hesitate to act, and he wasn’t sure what he would do if that happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more creative license here compared to the game. I loved the idea of Corypheus taking Anders over in this DLC, but the execution left a lot to be desired. And it’s weird how attacking Justice/Anders in the game somehow cures him of the problem so that it’s not even an issue when they release Corypheus from prison. It doesn’t make sense! I also liked being able to have a bit of direct interaction with Justice here.


	19. Corypheus

As much as she hated her life as a Grey Warden, Bethany was almost longing for the exhausting grind of it now. She had forgotten how chaotic her time in Kirkwall had been in comparison, but a single day in her sister’s company was bringing it all back, and while the Grey Warden’s fingerprints were also all over everything they’d encountered in this prison, she had never experienced this side of them before. This was more like the stories Anders had shared in the past, the very stories that had made her afraid of becoming a warden in the first place, and if this was what his time with the wardens had been like then it was no wonder he ran away.

After descending to the depths of the pit, they had to turn around and climb back up to the top of the prison itself, fighting more carta and darkspawn every step of the way. But it was easier now with Anders recovered and able to contribute more fully to the fights. She wasn’t sure if it was his bond with Justice or the years of practice, but Anders was so strong at times that he terrified her. His skill certainly had something to do with it, like how he could call fireballs from the sky and somehow manage to harm only their enemies without touching any of his friends, but what really scared her was how reckless he was with his own safety. He tore through darkspawn and the Carta alike with a look of righteous fury on his face, paying no attention to the blows he received along the way, and he was often ready to collapse by the time the last enemy fell.

It had been a shock to see how much he had changed since she’d seen him last, the toll of the years weighing heavily on his shoulders and giving him a haunted look that made her inexplicably sad. She remembered how much he’d reminded her of her father when she first met him, the warm kindness in his eyes and the way he always tried to do what was right rather than what was easy. After hearing her father’s memories the resemblance was even more uncanny, the desperation she’d heard in her father’s voice at the end all too similar to the edge she heard in Anders’ voice now. 

On her darker days with the wardens, she’d often cursed Anders, casting the blame on him for forcing her into this life even though all he’d done was offer her a way to survive. But ultimately she was the one who had agreed to go along with it. Even her sister wasn’t to blame. She had a hard time remembering those facts some days, but she was trying now. 

“You okay, Sunshine?”

Smiling at the dwarf, she nodded, grateful that even if everything else had changed, Varric had not. He was still the same generous, irreverent rogue with a heart of gold. She’d been cold to him at first, as she had been to all of them, but Varric hadn’t let her get away with it for even a minute. He was the older brother she’d never had – or wanted, really, since she already had her share of older-sibling-bossiness with Marian – but he looked out for all of them, even her. And he still called her sunshine even though there was very little about her these days that was sunny.

“Your arm is covered in blood,” Varric pointed out and she looked down to see that he was right. It was a minor injury, but it would probably get worse if she didn’t tend to it. 

Before she could even lift a hand to heal the wound, Anders appeared at her side and covered the cut with healing magic. It had been a long time since she’d been healed this much by someone else, but she had to admit it felt nice. She smiled up at him, but he was already moving on to Varric.

The dwarf waved him off. “I’m good, Blondie.” 

Anders frowned as if he didn’t believe him, but before he could protest, he sucked in a breath and looked back over his shoulder. Bethany felt it a second later, the sensation of someone with the taint approaching. Then she saw a group of Wardens on the far side of the bridge ahead. The top of the prison was in sight now just beyond them, the final wards glowing in twisted tendrils around the center of the chamber.

There was obvious tension between the warden’s leader, Janeka, and their eccentric guide, Larius, but Bethany wasn’t sure if either of them could be trusted. 

“Without your father,” Janeka said, “this prison would have fallen thirty years ago. Reinforcing the seals requires the blood of a mage untainted by...warden training. The last to perform the ritual was Malcolm Hawke.”

Bethany met her sister’s eyes, knowing they were both thinking the same thing. Their father had always been vehemently opposed to blood magic. The idea that he would have been willing to compromise that ideal was enough to shake her understanding of him, but she wasn’t ready to believe it quite yet.

“To avert the Blights, forbidden magics are sometimes necessary,” Janeka said as if that justified everything, and anger bubbled up in Bethany at the woman’s dismissiveness. Janeka was exactly the sort of mage the chantry warned about, one more interested in gaining power than understanding the consequences of such power. This became utterly clear when she suggested working with Corypheus rather than destroying him. 

“Don’t do it, Hawke,” Anders said sharply. “You can’t trust a darkspawn to honor any deal.”

Changing tactics, Janeka tried to sway their opinion by turning them against Larius, revealing that the horrible little man had threatened to harm their mother in order to get their father’s help renewing the seals. But that only eased Bethany’s mind that she had been right about their father. And she hadn’t trusted Larius to start with.

“I don’t like Larius’ methods,” Marian said finally, weighing whether to go along with Janeka’s request or stick to the original plan. “But this Corypheus is a menace and he’s probably already warping your minds. He can’t be allowed to walk free.”

Bethany worried about the consequences of fighting her fellow wardens, but Corypheus was too dangerous to trust and if they left these wardens alive then they would do everything they could to free him. They weren’t in their right minds.

After the wardens were dead, Larius instructed Marian to break the final seals in order to access Corypheus and kill him. Bethany wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but the strange creature that emerged from the prison cell was not it. Twisted in appearance and disoriented, Corypheus spoke in archaic language and looked more like a distorted creature from the Fade than a human being. Based on how much he had been influencing everyone, she had thought he would come out of his prison ready to enact some grand plan, but he was acting like someone who had been asleep for thousands of years.

“Did he say something about the Temple of Dumat?” Anders asked with a frown. “Dumat was the first Old God to become an Archdemon. There haven’t been temples to him since ancient Tevinter.”

Corypheus continued to ramble, telling them to kneel before him because he was a magister and then speaking to his god, Dumat, complaining that he had found only darkness when he went in search of the golden light.

“The Golden City,” Larius said, his milky eyes wide with shock. Bethany felt equally shaken. Everyone knew the stories. Even the wardens still repeated them. “The first violation. The magisters who brought the Blight.”

But Anders scoffed. “That’s ridiculous! There were no magical bogeymen who trespassed in the Maker’s city. It’s a story. Chantry propaganda.”

“Where do you think darkspawn came from then?” Marian asked him, an edge to her voice. Bethany wondered why she couldn’t ever let Anders’ opinions stand without arguing.

“Some creation of the Old Gods, no doubt,” Anders said. “The darkspawn aren’t just some conveniently explicit lesson on the dangers of magic.”

“Tell that to him,” Marian retorted, gesturing at Corypheus. “And he’s only the most recent example. Corrupt mages aren’t that hard to come by, Anders, no matter what you say.”

But Corypheus had tired of their presence, deciding that they were obstacles to his escape and he made the first attack while they were distracted by their argument. 

He proved to be a difficult foe. His mastery of magic in every form was bad enough, but it didn’t help that he used the warden’s seals against them as well. The chamber became an obstacle itself, the ground littered with broken earth, lightning, falling ice and gouts of fire. But they slowly managed to get the better of Corypheus, chipping away at his strength one blow at a time. Anders kept them on their feet until the end of the fight only to fall unconscious himself before Marian could deliver the killing blow. When it was over, they were all beaten down and bleeding but still alive. And Corypheus had dissolved away completely, crumbling to ash on the floor.

Leaning on her staff, Bethany limped over to where Varric was propping Anders up and trying to pour a health potion down his throat. His expression as he looked down at Anders was difficult to interpret, a tangle of worry and annoyance with a little sadness on the side.

Looking up at her, he sighed. “I wish he’d make a little more effort to heal himself while we’re fighting.”

“Does this happen often?” Bethany asked, kneeling down beside him.

“More than I’d like.”

“It’s because of Justice, isn’t it?”

“Probably. But he seems even more self-destructive when the spirit isn’t obviously in control, so who knows. These days he fights like he’s running out of time.” 

Sucking in a deep breath as the potion finally took effect, Anders came to with a grimace.

“Easy, Blondie,” Varric said as he helped him to sit up and Bethany noticed that Anders had to lean heavily against him for support. “You were out for a while.”

Anders looked around quickly, on high alert as if he thought they were still in the middle of a fight. “Is he dead?”

“Yep. We got him. There’s no rush. Take your time.” Varric stroked a hand down his back in reassurance, and Bethany wondered at the gesture. It was hardly inappropriate or anything, but the tenderness in the dwarf’s eyes when he looked at Anders seemed more significant than worry over a friend.

“Anyone need healing?” Anders asked wearily and Bethany laughed at how ridiculous that question sounded when he was the one in the worst shape.

Varric rolled his eyes and stood up. “Yes. You do. And there’s no point in holding back now. Heal yourself right.”

“I can help,” Bethany offered. “I’m not as good at it as you are, but I’ve learned a thing or two since joining the wardens.”

When Anders was patched up and they were finally on their way, Larius turned to speak to them before they left. “You’ve done what no other warden has managed,” he said proudly, sounding shockingly coherent compared to his previous manner, his movements smooth now rather than frenzied and painful. When he talked about going to make a report to the Warden-Commander, Bethany frowned.

Leaning closer to Anders, she said, “I thought he had come to the Deep Roads on his Calling. You aren’t supposed to come back from that, are you?”

Anders shook his head, frowning now as well.

“Now that Corypheus is dead, my head is finally clear,” Larius said emphatically and Marian seemed to believe him. “I thank you for my freedom.” He turned and walked away with even strides and Bethany’s instincts were telling her that something was wrong, but Marian only shrugged.

“He’s clearly been tortured for some time, but it must have been Corypheus’ influence behind all his trouble,” Marian said. “Besides, aren’t you ready for a break from all the fighting?” Wrapping an arm around Bethany’s shoulders, she pulled her close with a smile Bethany hadn’t seen since they were young and causing mischief back in Lothering. “Let’s go home, Beth. I want you to see it before you have to go back to the wardens.”

Bethany was worried that seeing their family’s ancestral home when it could never truly be hers would only cause her pain, but she knew it was selfish to deny her sister this comfort. Especially now that mother was gone as well. And she wanted to visit her grave before she left anyway.

“Lead on,” she said finally and even managed a smile while she said it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way Anders is fighting is based on Vengeance mode in the game. He will sacrifice his own health to do more spells and more damage and he can’t be fully healed while Vengeance mode is active.


	20. Manifesto

Anders sat at a small table in the corner of the room, writing on borrowed paper with borrowed ink, his hand cramping as he tried to keep up with his own spiraling thoughts. Barely remembering to breathe, he scribbled over the pages, crossed out bits and scribbled again, feeling as if he was chasing the words rather than writing them. 

“Blondie.”

He heard the voice but ignored it, too focused on finding the right words to capture one of the more delicate nuances of his manifesto, the fact that while power tended to corrupt, magic did not always lead to the same inevitability. There were as many types of mages as there were types of people, and just as some people were dangerous so were some mages. But you couldn’t lock up every person in the world simply because they had the potential to become violent. The same was true of mages.

His quill ran dry and he reached for the inkwell to fill it again, but it wasn’t there. Frowning, he looked around the table and even on the floor before he thought to look up at the dwarf who was leaning against the table and smirking down at him with an arched brow. Varric was holding the inkwell aloft above Anders’ head and he pulled it out of reach as soon as Anders lunged for it. 

“Varric,” Anders said in annoyance. “I need that. I’m almost finished.”

“You were almost finished two hours ago. I’m starting to think you’re trying to steal my mystique with all this writing. You even have ink all over your face.” Laughing, Varric leaned forward to rub some of the ink off his cheek and Anders managed to enjoy the contact for what it was without hoping for more. 

He’d come a long way in three years. With Isabela gone he’d found himself craving touch even more than before, feeling her loss keenly for months afterward. But over time he managed to rebuild the walls that had sustained him when he first fled the wardens, training himself to require less contact and last longer without it. He learned to get what he needed from casual or accidental touches, even relishing the violence of the fights Hawke always pulled him into simply to feel something. The hardest part was letting go of his feelings for Varric when the dwarf seemed determined to test his resolve at every turn. He knew it was purely coincidental, but of all his friends, Varric was the one who touched him the most, casual brushes of his hand against Anders’ back or arm and occasionally something more intimate like what he was doing now, but Anders had no illusions about the nature of this contact. It was friendly and platonic, almost familial. 

“There,” Varric said, sitting back to inspect Anders’ face. “Much better.” Anders was proud of himself that he didn’t lean into his hand when he pulled away. 

Looking down at the messy stack of papers in front of him, Anders felt Justice prodding him to get back to work. They were so close and they couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Anders knew he was beginning to fray around the edges. On his better days, he could recognize how much of him was missing and almost gather the will to do something about it. But on days like today, his mind was consumed by their plans, the words of their manifesto running endlessly through his head like a mantra, a justification for everything they had done and planned to do. In the absence of a viscount, Meredith was seizing more and more power in the city, and the underground resistance had crumbled under the pressure. Without it, their options had narrowed, each choice more dangerous than the last. But the mages would be freed one way or another. Justice had a plan, he knew, even if the spirit hadn’t shared it with him yet.

“Blondie.” Varric’s tone was emphatic now, and he was leaning into Anders’ space again, cupping his chin and lifting his head to get his attention. Blinking at him in shock and fighting against a shiver, Anders realized that Varric had been talking for a while and he hadn’t been listening. “Do you want to come along or not?”

“Where?”

Sighing, Varric let his eyes fall shut for a moment. “Bartrand’s estate,” he said with the air of one repeating something difficult. “I’m trying to sell the damn thing, but I keep getting reports of it being haunted. Bartrand must have left more twisted relics behind and they’re wreaking havoc. Hawke is going to meet me there. You want to come?”

Anders looked away. “I can’t. I need to finish this.”

“What you need is some fresh air. While I can’t promise much of that, I can promise some weird supernatural shit that will make for good stories later… And I suspect I will need your help. This seems like the kind of thing that might require magic to fix.”

Varric knew exactly how to get to him and Anders was powerless to resist a plea for help. “I suppose I could use a break.” Stretching his arms over his head, Anders yawned and felt his jaw crack, along with a few places in his spine as he adjusted from sitting bent over the table for hours. 

Giving him an amused look, Varric slid off the table and reached for the stack of papers while Anders was distracted. “Want me to take a look at these?” he asked, flipping casually through them. 

“No.” Snatching them out of his hands reflexively, Anders folded the papers and tucked them into a pocket of his coat. In an inexplicably generous gesture, Varric had gifted him a new coat a few months ago, and while it was similar to his previous style it was of far better quality and cleverly designed with hidden pockets everywhere. Varric had said he’d done it for the good of everyone since the old coat was beginning to smell no matter how many times Anders tried to wash out all the blood and grime, but Anders knew he was just deflecting.

“I don’t have time for editing,” he said.

Expression darkening, Varric tilted his head at him. “There’s always time for edits, Blondie. You don’t want to turn people off with an inconvenient misspelling. What if you accidently say mage riots instead of rights or that templars have been undressing mages instead of suppressing them?”

Anders almost laughed at the horrible joke, feeling the corners of his mouth curling upward in an expression that felt foreign for how long it had been since he last made it. “Neither of those are easy mistakes to make, Varric.”

“You say that now, but what if you start talking about the Templars being a public menace and accidentally call them a pubic menace? People are only going to get confused.”

A laugh escaped Anders’ lips before he even felt it coming and he felt warmth bubbling up in his chest at the fond look in Varric’s eyes.

“Ah, there it is. I thought maybe you’d forgotten how to smile.”

And just like that, the feeling faded. “I don’t have many reasons to smile anymore. Meredith grows bolder by the day and even First Enchanter Orsino has begun to speak out about her violations. Only the Chantry continues to remain silent, but the time is coming when everyone will have to take sides.”

“Yes, yes, Justice. I hear you,” Varric said with a sigh. “But would you please let me borrow Anders for the rest of the day?”

Anders flinched, realizing that he had allowed Justice to take the lead for a moment. This was happening more and more often, subtle takeovers that were fluid enough that he didn’t even notice it was happening until someone pointed out the shift in his behavior. The lines between him and Justice had blurred so much now that the transition between them was rarely as defined as it had once been. Justice didn’t always make himself known visibly and Anders didn’t always realize he had surrendered control until it was too late to take it back.

“Sorry,” Anders murmured, avoiding Varric’s gaze. “I’ll try to keep him in check.”

Nodding, Varric brushed his fingers over Anders’ arm. “Let’s go, Blondie. Hawke is probably already waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like how this chapter is a bit of a reflection of Sins of Inaction, the chapter of The Wrong Man where Varric is feverishly writing after their mission with Bianca and Anders interrupts him in a similar way.


	21. Haunted

Hawke and Fenris were both waiting at Bartrand’s estate when they arrived, and Varric realized that this was the same group that had been with him the last time. When he had confronted and killed his brother. Shaking away the unpleasant memories, Varric unlocked the door and stepped inside. 

“Let’s get this over with,” he said, feeling exhausted already.

They didn’t have to venture very far into the house to see that things were very wrong. Objects moved on their own, vases hovering off tables and bottles falling without being touched while strange creaks echoed through the empty halls like the grumbling of some great beast.

“Something in this house is restless,” Fenris observed, a hand hovering close to the hilt of his sword as if he expected something wild to jump out and attack.

Varric was about to tease the elf for stating the obvious when he heard it, soft and indistinct but impossible to ignore. “Hey,” he said, tilting his head to the side as he strained his ears. “Is that music? Where is it coming from?”

“I don’t hear anything.” Hawke exchanged a look with Anders and Fenris, but they both shook their heads.

“It’s like humming,” Varric explained, walking through the door on the other side of the room in search of the source. “Or chimes maybe?”

A door on the other side of the hall swung open then, seemingly of its own volition, and they all jumped a little – even Fenris.

Again Fenris stated the completely obvious. “Magic is at work here.”

“It’s not any magic I recognize,” Anders said sharply, the argument almost reflexive at this point. Varric sighed. The mage used to be so much fun, but these days he turned every conversation into an argument. 

In the next corridor, a chair floated off the floor and flipped itself over before attaching to the ceiling as if to provide seating for a ghost that wanted to sit upside down. Varric laughed nervously. “I guess the buyer wasn’t kidding. Where is that voice coming from anyway?” He could hear it floating just above the music, indistinct but growing louder

“I don’t hear any voices.” Hawke was starting to look concerned now. 

Varric shook his head, turning in a slow circle to see if he could tell which direction it was coming from. “I can barely hear it. I wish I could make out the words.”

“I think it’s better if you don’t,” Anders warned and Varric almost laughed at the grave expression on the mage’s face. Everything was serious with the mage lately, even this, apparently.

Another door swung open with a whine, beckoning them forward while the door behind them slammed shut. Exploring cautiously, they walked into the storage room at the end of the hall and Varric felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach as soon as he crossed the threshold. The room was stacked full of boxes and dusty objects and he knew Bartrand would have been furious to see all his favorite things sitting there forgotten.

“Look at all this,” he said with a sigh. “My brother’s junk. This all came from our estate in Orzammar. When I was seven I knocked over one of mother’s plates and broke it and my brother yelled at me for an hour.” Imitating Bartrand’s gruff voice, he continued, “‘This was made by the artisans of House Saldras, the clay was from the Aedros Atuna river which never sees the sun!’”

Hawke arched a brow. “He was that upset over a dish?”

Feeling wistful as he looked around at the discarded objects, Varric nodded. “I don’t think it was a dish to Bartrand. That stupid plate was the whole city of Orzammar to him.”

Turning his back on the room and all the memories it held, Varric led the way back into the hall but froze when he saw an ephemeral figure dashing across the corridor into another room, shrieking all the way. Hawke laughed loudly then, the sound raw in the tense atmosphere, but Varric wasn’t surprised to hear her laughing in the face of fear. 

“This place is ridiculous,” she said when she caught her breath. “Anders, can you really not sense where all this nonsense is coming from?”

Anders shook his head. “I have no idea. It almost feels like the Fade, but if the Veil were torn I would be able to feel it.”

“This isn’t being caused by some random artifact,” Varric said, suddenly certain of this fact. “The idol is still in the house. It has to be!” 

“All we can do is keep searching.” Hawke walked into another room, dodging books as they flew off the shelves and around in circles before alighting on nearby tables. But she wasn’t quick enough to dodge the vase that came sailing out of nowhere as she stepped into the adjoining corridor. She lifted her arms to protect her face as it smashed into her.

“Andraste’s flaming knickers!” Anders cursed, hurrying to her side to see if she needed healing.

“I’m fine,” she said, shaking off the bits of porcelain. “Just startled.”

Fenris ground his teeth, hovering near her side protectively. “Whatever is behind this, it’s angry.”

“We have to find that idol,” Varric muttered. The music was getting louder with every step, but the voice was still tantalizingly out of reach.

Finally the maze of rooms led them into the main hall and they were greeted by a parade of objects swooping and swaying through the air over their heads. A deep, animalistic growl rumbled through the room as they crossed it, seeming to be coming from the very walls.

“Varric, is that what you’ve been hearing?” Anders asked, voice quivering slightly.

The sound was nothing like what Varric had been hearing, but both the music and unintelligible whispers were continuing to grow in strength. He wondered why none of the others could hear them but decided not to think about that too deeply. They needed to find the source of the disturbance quickly before things got worse.

Approaching the study where they had found Bartrand the last time they visited this place, Varric felt dread knotting up inside his stomach. His hand slipped on the door knob when he reached for it, but eventually he managed to push the door open. Hawke rushed in, daggers gripped in her hands as if she was expecting a fight. She yelped in surprise and came to a sudden stop while the rest of them piled up behind her, gaping at the servant huddled in the corner of the room. 

The servant was the least frightening thing they’d seen since entering the house, but she didn’t seem to think the same thing about all of them, her eyes wide and terrified as she cried, “Are you real? You’ve got to get out of here before it comes back!”

Varric pushed past Hawke with determination, sensing immediately that the woman couldn’t be trusted. “Where’s the idol?” he demanded.

“What idol?” 

Unbelievable. Didn’t she understand what was at stake? “Don’t waste my time with your lies. Tell me where it is!”

“Varric,” Hawke touched his shoulder. “Take it easy. She’s telling us what she can.”

“She’s hiding something, Hawke,” Varric said, shocked that Hawke couldn’t see how suspicious the servant was acting. Turning back to face the woman, he jabbed a finger at her. “Don’t lie to me. I know it’s here. You must have found it!”

“I swear! I don’t know anything about an idol.” But before she could say more, the ground shook beneath their feet and the inhuman roar they’d heard before echoed through the great hall, closer this time. “Maker, no! It’s starting again!”

The servant fled the room before Varric could stop her, and her scream was all the warning they had before they realized that whatever horror had taken over the house had finally manifested into something solid. Running back into the hall, they discovered an enormous golem looming over the servant’s body. The creature roared again, glowing blood red and flickering with white lightning like the red lyrium they had found growing in the walls of that primeval thaig. And the statue that had driven Bartrand mad.

“Oh no,” Varric breathed. 

“Looks like we found your idol,” Hawke said dryly.

The golem was powerful and devastatingly strong. It shook the ground when it walked, and at one point it threw Varric off balance badly enough that it was able to fling him against a wall before he could roll out of the way. Shaking off the shock of the impact, he groaned as he pulled himself back to his feet, watching the others dodge and weave around the creature, landing attacks as they could before it turned its stony fists on them. Still trying to catch his breath, he stared helplessly as the golem rushed directly at him, trying to gather himself to dodge out of the way. 

Anders skidded to a stop in front of him before he managed to move, a shield springing to life around them both with an unearthly glow. The golem plowed into Anders’ shield and his arms shook with the effort of keeping the barrier in place, his boots sliding slowly backward with every blow of the golem’s fists. Whatever magic was animating the golem seemed to be infecting Anders’ magic and causing the shield to fracture. 

Reloading Bianca, Varric braced himself against Anders’ back to help him hold his ground, balancing the crossbow against his side and taking aim. “Let it fall, Blondie,” he said, firing an exploding bolt right into the center of the creature’s forehead as soon as Anders dropped the shield. Hawke and Fenris attacked at the same time from the opposite side and the golem made one last howl before disintegrating into a pile of rock on the ground. 

Hawke laughed in triumph and punched Fenris in the arm lightly with a grin. “Now that’s teamwork!”

The singing was louder now, Varric realized, the words so clear and yet impossible to understand. Releasing his grip on Anders, he returned Bianca to her place on his back and moved toward the rubble, the ground feeling insubstantial beneath his feet as if he were dreaming. A fragment of red winked at him from beneath the other rocks, and he pushed them out of the way frantically to reach it, sighing with relief as soon as he felt the heat of the pulsing shard against the palm of his hand. It was so beautiful.

“I should have known Bartrand would lie to me,” he said, turning the object over in wonder. “Of course he’d keep a piece of the statue for himself. Think of what we could do with this.”

“Varric…” Hawke’s voice sounded far away. “You’ve been acting strangely since we arrived. Maybe you shouldn’t be touching that.”

Clutching at the crystal tightly enough that his leather glove creaked with the pressure, Varric glared at her. “Six years of my life have gone into this. This shard is my only hope of understanding what happened to Bartrand!”

“That thing is cursed. It can bring nothing but madness.” Anders grabbed his arm. “Put it down!”

Twisting away from his touch, Varric said coldly, “It’s not your call, Blondie.” 

Anders flinched, but didn’t reply.

“At least let me give it to Sandal first,” Hawke suggested. “He’s a genius with enchantments. Maybe he can help you figure out what it is.” 

“You want to bring that thing into your own house?” Anders asked, shocked. “After what it did to this place? It should be destroyed.”

“Much as I hate to admit it,” Fenris said with distaste, “I agree with the mage.”

Were they all insane? Varric was the only one who could make use of the shard. He was the only one who could hear its song. Why did they keep talking like they had any say over what he did with it? “It’s mine,” he said, backing away from his friends. “You won’t take it from me!”

The only warning he had before Anders flung a bolt of lightning at him was the frown on his face when he lifted his hand.

The lightning hurt like hell and his muscles spasmed in reaction, knocking him to the floor before the sensation subsided. He was too numb afterward to react when he saw Hawke snatch the shard out of his hand and fling it to Fenris who immediately smashed it in his gauntlet, using the power from his lyrium markings to crush it to dust. Varric felt the destruction first-hand as if Fenris had crushed his bones along with the rock, a shock of pain that burrowed deep inside and left him feeling hollowed out when it faded.

“No,” he groaned, rolling onto his side and curling into a ball to shut the others out. The song was suddenly silent and the absence made his ears ring, like the charged silence after a particularly violent crack of thunder.

Anders’ hand landed on his cheek, healing energy soothing away the raw edges of his pain. “Varric,” he said gently, tilting his head so that he could meet his eyes. 

But Varric was still too angry, too empty to tolerate the mage’s sympathy. He pushed Anders away roughly. “Don’t touch me,” he hissed. Squeezing his eyes shut, Varric groaned, “Now I’ll never know the truth.”

“Some truths are not worth knowing,” Hawke said gently. “I thought we were going to lose you to that thing, Varric.”

“You didn’t have the right to take that choice away from me.” The influence of the shard was beginning to fade, but even as Varric was realizing how strangely he’d been behaving his anger was only growing. He’d done what Hawke suggested before. She’d persuaded him to kill his brother and he’d listened even though he hadn’t been certain Bartrand was beyond hope. And now it was impossible to know if he could have been saved. Only the shard could have answered his questions. 

“I’m sorry, Varric,” Hawke said sadly. “But I couldn’t take the risk.” She was right. He knew that in her place he would have probably done the same thing, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“I’d like to be alone for a while,” he said, shifting his glare onto Anders, knowing that none of them would have stopped him if the mage hadn’t intervened. Just as he wouldn’t have had a reason to hope that Bartrand could have been saved if Anders hadn’t intervened then as well. On some level, he knew his anger was misplaced, that Anders had only been trying to help in both cases, but it felt good to have a target. And for once, Anders didn’t seem interested in arguing. 

Anders stood up and turned away, and the resigned expression on his face was almost enough for Varric to regret his anger. Almost, but not quite.

“If that’s what you want,” Hawke said finally to Varric. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

Varric nodded, closing his eyes as he listened to them walk away. And when they were gone he was left alone with that horrible silence.


	22. The Wrong Choice

Exhausted from a day spent tracking down runaway mages for Meredith, Hawke walked into her estate and began stripping off armor in the anteroom, looking forward to a stiff drink and an evening free from petty arguments. She didn’t make it two steps into the library before her hopes for a quiet night were shattered. 

“Welcome home,” Bodahn said warmly, but his friendly greeting didn’t distract from the lanky mage standing in front of the fireplace with murder in his eyes. “Your friend came by to see you.”

“So you just let him in?” Hawke asked with a hint of sarcasm that seemed to sail right over the gentle dwarf’s head. 

“He said he needed to speak to you.”

“I’m sure he did,” she muttered, wishing that she hadn’t already discarded her weapons and armor. She didn’t think Anders would ever attack her directly, but he was unpredictable these days. “Thank you, Bodahn.”

The mage shifted to look at her and his expression was difficult to read. Not simply anger or disappointment but something deeper and more troubling. While she appreciated the fact that he had finally replaced his tattered old coat this new one gave him a severe look. Black was normally one of her favorite colors to wear, but on Anders the color only made the dark circles under his eyes and gaunt shadows beneath his cheekbones more apparent. He looked ill these days, as if the spirit sharing his body was slowly killing him from the inside out.

“Anders,” she said cooly, walking over to the collection of bottles on the sideboard and pouring herself a drink. “You want one?”

He shook his head and returned his attention to the fire, the flickering light casting unsettling shadows over his face. 

Joining him in front of the fireplace, she sipped at her drink and waited for the accusations to start. When he remained silent, she said his name just to make sure he was actually present. These days she could never tell how much of what Anders said and did was actually Justice speaking through him. “Anders?”

“I know what you’ve been doing. That you’ve been working for her.”

She waited, arching a brow in challenge. Tensions between the mages and templars had reached a boiling point in the city, and she no longer cared who she sided with as long as order was restored. So far Meredith was the only one speaking reason as far as she was concerned. The mages were out of control, stirred into a frenzy by the possibility of freedom and proving everyone’s worst fears with their first taste of it.

“I know we’ve never agreed about the Circles, but I didn’t think you would go so far as to side with Meredith.”

Hawke sighed. “The fact that you still think there even are sides in this is the real problem here. These mages you keep defending aren’t like you, Anders. They don’t give away their services for free or work themselves to the bone helping people. They’re selfish and greedy and they’ve hurt far more people than they’ve helped. They don’t deserve to be free.”

He flinched, wrapping his arms around himself. “They’ve lived all their lives trapped by a corrupt system. They don’t know how to behave outside the Circle, but if the system were broken, if they were taught how to live as productive members of society–”

“If, if, if,” Hawke mocked. “If the world were perfect, I’d be here with my family instead of living alone with a couple of dwarves. Fenris would never have been a slave to mages or had to suffer their abuses. Dream about this imaginary world all you want, Anders, but don’t pretend it has anything to do with reality. Tevinter is proof enough of what happens when mages are allowed to walk free.”

Closing his eyes, Anders sighed. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Really? That would be a first.” Taking another drink, Hawke sat down in the wingback chair in front of the fire and crossed her arms over her chest, hoping he would take the hint and leave.

“I need your help.”

Hawke laughed, watching how Anders tensed at the sound and wondering how he had expected her to react. Surely he wasn’t surprised.

Drawing a deep breath, Anders turned just enough for her to see his profile against the fire. “I made the wrong choice in joining with Justice. It should never have happened.”

Hawke placed her glass on the table beside her and sat up straighter in her chair. She had never thought to hear those words coming out of his mouth and she immediately distrusted them. “What?”

Anders turned to face her fully, anguish in his eyes. “I’ve spent the last three years researching the methods of Tevinter magisters. They’re the only ones who ever sought to reverse spirit possession instead of just killing the victims. I believe I’ve found a solution to separate Justice and I without killing either of us.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

He frowned but didn’t look away, meeting her gaze with quiet determination.

“To start with, I didn’t even think that was something you wanted. You’re so quick to defend everything that spirit does.”

“What happened between us isn’t his fault. I’m the one who corrupted him, and I don’t want to see him die. Until now the only ways I could find to separate us would have killed Justice, so they weren’t an option.”

Hawke nodded, but she still wasn’t convinced. “It’s rather convenient that you’ve found this solution now.”

“It’s not convenient at all.” Anders began to pace in front of the fire. “What would have been convenient was finding this solution six years ago, before we had so many close calls. But things are getting worse every day, the lines between us blurring. I don’t know if there will be enough left of me to stand on my own if we don’t act now. I can’t help mages like this. Not when I am an example of everything the templars fear about magic.”

He seemed sincere even if the entire idea was hard to swallow. “What do you need?” she asked finally, knowing that she couldn’t refuse this request no matter how skeptical she was.

Looking at her with a glint of hope in his eyes, he began listing ingredients and describing where they could be found. They were strange and seemed unusual for a potion of the kind Anders described, but she knew nothing about this kind of magic so who was she to judge? But there was something about his eagerness that made her worry, a hint of something hidden beneath his desperation that she couldn’t quite identify. Perhaps it was only fear. She had never known Anders without Justice, and they had been together long enough that maybe even he was no longer sure who he was without the spirit either. While he had been struggling for years to maintain equilibrium with Justice, the thought of being alone must have been daunting.

“No promises,” she said finally, “But I’ll see what I can do.”

“That’s all I can ask.” Biting his lower lip, he glanced in the direction of the front door with a frown when he heard Bodahn greeting Fenris. “I should go. Thank you, Hawke. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Fenris stood in the doorway when Anders turned to leave, squinting at the mage with suspicion. Finally stepping out of the mage’s path with a scowl, Fenris shook his head and turned his attention on Hawke when he was gone. “What was he doing here?”

She didn’t like to keep secrets from Fenris, but she also knew better than to share Anders’ plan with him when it was so uncertain. Fenris had been vocal about his distrust of Anders and he would scrutinize this request in ways she didn’t think would be helpful when she was already feeling uneasy enough about it. “Oh, you know,” she said, reaching for her drink and taking another sip, “he just stopped by for our daily spat. He’s unhappy that I’m working with Meredith.”

“He didn’t look unhappy.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Fenris glowered at her, and she realized that he was now directing his suspicion at her.

Laughing, she said, “Maybe you’ve just forgotten what he looks like when he’s happy because I haven’t seen him be anything but unhappy in years.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Fenris grumbled. “But he had a strange look in his eye. Whatever he came here for, he thinks he has gained the upper hand against you.”

Hawke didn’t like the sound of that, but Fenris always looked for the worst in Anders so she wasn’t sure if she could trust his assessment. “Let him think so,” she said finally. “He’s more likely to make a mistake if he thinks he already has everyone else fooled.”

A rare smile curled Fenris’ lips. “I should know better than to doubt you.”

Standing up and walking toward him with a hungry smile, she teased, “Everyone always underestimates me.” Slipping her arms around his waist, she pressed a kiss against his jaw. “It’s been a long day. Want to skip dinner and jump right to dessert?”

“You know me,” he replied in a deep voice that sent tingles racing all over her skin. “I prefer to drink my meals anyway.” Cupping her face between his hands, he pulled her into a slow, longing kiss that she could feel all the way to her toes. 

And before long, Anders and his plans had fallen out of her thoughts entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still mad at Bioware about what they did to Anders, but since The Wrong Man is the fixit, I can't fix it here. Still, I remember how hopeful I was when I played the game the first time that there would be a solution for Anders separating from Justice. It wrecked me when I found out it was all a trick.


	23. Nightingale

Sebastian found peace in the warm quiet of the chantry, kneeling at Andraste’s feet and feeling the presence of the Maker overshadow him. He’d felt so conflicted ever since his family’s death, first by the desire for revenge and then by the temptation to take back what was his. As the last remaining member of his family, it was objectively his right to take Starkhaven back from the usurper, but he worried about the bloodshed such an action would cause. Just because something was his right did not mean it was just. The decision tortured him, tangling him up in knots of duty and guilt. 

But he was not the only one facing a difficult decision. Kirkwall had never been peaceful, but the unrest in the city was reaching a breaking point, tensions between Meredith and the Circle so high that all it would take was one foolish action to set off a chain of events that would leave the city in ruins. He’d thought that after the Qunari attack no one would be eager for another fight, but it was the vacuum in leadership that the Qunari had created that had allowed things to escalate this far. Without a viscount, Meredith had been allowed to grasp for more power than any Knight-Commander should ever have while Grand Enchanter Orsino was outraged that she used that power to further restrict the lives of his mages who had already been denied the power to choose much in their lives. And Grand Cleric Elthina was caught in the middle, constantly drawn into their arguments and forced to take a side. So far she had remained neutral, but Sebastian worried that this neutrality would have a consequence. Her refusal to take a side was only escalating tensions, not defusing them. 

“Sebastian.”

Looking up, he found Hawke standing over him, a gentle smile on her lips. “Hawke,” he greeted, rising to his feet.

“I’ve been speaking with the Grand Cleric,” she said. “She has a request for us.”

Sebastian followed Hawke to the podium, nodding at Varric and Aveline along the way and relieved that Hawke had left her mage companions out of this conversation, especially Anders. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing to Elthina. “What do you need?”

“I’ve had news from Orlais,” Elthina said, her placid expression tightening with worry around the edges. “The Divine is worried about this situation with the mages. She has sent an agent to assess the danger. Meet with her, please. Tell her drastic measures won’t be required.”

“Drastic measures?” Sebastian repeated. “Surely the Divine wouldn’t treat the whole city as enemies.”

Elthina shook her head, and Sebastian could see the weariness in the movement even though she did her best to hold herself upright and steady. “The Divine is concerned. It is never wise to draw the concern of the powerful.”

Sebastian scoffed. “She is the voice of Andraste. She cannot turn the might of the chantry against the innocent due to proximity.”

“Were no innocents harmed in the Exalted Marches? She’ll do her best, Sebastian. But she must act first to protect the faithful.”

“Could we keep the Exalted Marching to a minimum?” Varric muttered. “I keep all my stuff in Kirkwall.”

Hawke spared a smile for Varric but then returned her attention to Elthina. “What can you tell us about the agent of the Divine?”

“I was not told her real name. Only to call her Sister Nightingale. She is said to be the Divine’s left hand, sent to do work that might blacken the divine’s name.”

“We will convince her,” Sebastian said firmly. “We cannot allow this ridiculous mage rebellion to turn into Holy War.”

The Grand Cleric told them that Sister Nightingale would be waiting for them in the Viscount’s throne room at midnight, so they had time before the meeting. Hawke invited them all back to her estate while they waited, but Sebastian told her he would meet her at the keep instead. 

“I promise we won’t be doing anything scandalous,” Hawke told him with a smile, a shaft of light catching in her eyes as she tilted her head and turning them into blue fire. “We don’t see much of you these days, Sebastian.”

Clearing his throat, he shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d prefer to meditate on this situation so that I will be better prepared for the encounter tonight.”

“I don’t know how you do it. Five minute of silence and I get all antsy.” She illustrated the point by fidgeting with a pouch attached to her belt.

“Perhaps a little quiet would do you good.”

“I prefer not to dwell on things.”

Chuckling, Sebastian said, “That isn’t quite how prayer works.”

“Isn’t it? You spend all your time in this dismal place torturing yourself over whether or not to reclaim your birthright. I don’t see that it’s improved your mood much.”

He frowned and looked away, focusing on the candles lit in front of Andraste’s statue, tendrils of smoke curling up around her ankles. “I’d rather not make a hasty action. The consequences are too great.”

“That’s...refreshing actually. I wish everyone took such care with their decisions. The world would probably be a safer place.”

Guessing at what she wasn’t saying, he asked, “You’re thinking about that mage, aren’t you? I appreciate that you left him behind today, by the way. The Grand Cleric doesn’t need to deal with his disrespect on top of her other troubles.”

“Anders?” Hawke sighed. “Yes, he has been rather...difficult to handle lately and I’ve been avoiding him as much as I can. He disapproves of me helping Meredith, I know, but I’ve seen evidence of mages and templars rebelling and it isn’t the kind of uprising he thinks it is. And now he’s claiming to be seeking a way to separate himself from Justice. I want to believe that such a thing is possible, but it seems too good to be true.”

“He is a troubled man,” Sebastian said. “I will continue to pray for him.”

Hawke nodded, but he could tell by the flicker of amusement in her eyes that she didn’t think his prayers would do much good. “Well, I’ll see you tonight then.

* * *

Sebastian arrived at the keep first, standing in the antechamber with anxiety roiling in his gut. He’d seen no one enter or leave the throne room, which wasn’t surprising since it had been locked up tight since the viscount’s death, but he didn’t think there was another entrance. Was Sister Nightingale already waiting for them inside?

“My, you’re prompt,” Hawke said, grinning at him as she approached from the other end of the hall. Nodding at the door, she asked, “Varric, want to do the honors?” 

The dwarf was efficient with his lockpicks and soon they were walking into the dimly lit room beyond, the only light coming from the moonlight pouring through windows set high above their heads. Sebastian sensed something was wrong only a moment before the mages appeared at the top of the steps.

“So, even the divine fears us now,” their leader cried. “She should. Kill the spies!”

The fight was brief, punctuated by a final blow from a slight woman with bright red hair who looked up at them with a crooked smile as she returned her daggers to their sheathes. “The Resolutionists,” she said, nudging one of the bodies with her toe. “I might have known they’d be part of this.

“Are you Sister Nightingale?” Hawke asked in surprise, giving the woman an appraising look. Sebastian was no less surprised. He had expected someone more dangerous looking, but this woman was petite and had a face like an angel.

“I am,” she confirmed. “Or you may call me Leliana. The Divine sent me to investigate the rebellion here in Kirkwall.”

Varric laughed. “ _ The _ Leliana? The one who accompanied the Hero of Fereldan to slay the archdemon?” Sebastian’s eyes widened. He’d heard the tales, but didn’t know enough of the details to recognize the name.

“Ah, I see it will be harder to remain anonymous so close to Fereldan. Yes. I knew the Hero of Ferelden.”

Hawke seemed impressed, but Aveline was more interested in learning more about the Resolutionists. Apparently they were a fraternity in the Circle of Magi who likely had something to do with the unrest in Kirkwall’s circle. They wanted to abolish the circle entirely and were turning to violent methods to get what they wanted. 

“The Divine has long suspected that Kirkwall’s problems were spurred by an outside group,” Leliana explained. “This attack proves she was right.”

Sebastian was stunned. After all the things he had heard Anders say, he’d always suspected that the mage had been behind the unrest in the city. Anders made no secret of his desire to spark a revolution and Sebastian had found his pamphlets stuck to the outside of the chantry, his so-called manifesto that read more like the ravings of a lunatic. But from what Leliana was saying, it sounded like this whole thing was much bigger than Anders.

“Will the Divine send soldiers?” Aveline asked, the fierce frown on her face making it clear what answer she was hoping to hear.

Leliana tilted her head thoughtfully. “Divine Justinia takes the situation here very seriously. The whole world is watching Kirkwall. If it falls to magic, none of us are safe. Tell Elthina to leave. There is refuge for her at the Grand Cathedral in Orlais. She will not be safe here.”

“I have to tell the Grand Cleric,” Sebastian said to Hawke. 

He left without looking to see if Hawke had followed, knowing that this news couldn’t wait. If Elthina was in danger she needed to know. He was worried about rousing Elthina from sleep when she got so little rest as it was, but he was surprised to find her in the chantry praying when he arrived. She looked up at him with her usual smile, and he wondered how she could continue to maintain this facade of calm when everything was falling to pieces around them. But deep down he knew the truth. Her strength came from the Maker, and it was limitless.

“Sebastian? What have you learned?”

“You were right,” he said, the words painful to say. “The divine will be taking action Kirkwall, though the sister didn’t say what. You must take the holy relics from the chantry and leave for safety.”

But Elthina’s eyes lit with righteous anger then. “Sebastian! I am surprised at you. Andraste would not thank me for saving a few dusty finger bones and my own skin at the cost of people’s lives. I am Grand Cleric. Who would dare attack me?”

Sebastian shook his head, stunned by her faith. “If you will not shield yourself,” he promised, kneeling before her, “then I will be your shield. You will come through this safely by the Maker’s name. I swear it.”

Smiling kindly, she placed a hand on his head and nodded. “The Maker provides. What do I have to fear?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had completely forgotten about this mission and when I remembered that Leliana made an appearance I realized I needed to include it. But since I hadn't referenced her visit in The Wrong Man, I left Anders out of it.


	24. Falling Apart

Anders was running out of time. He could feel it slipping through his fingers along with the moments that Justice took control, his life fragmenting between the periods he remembered and the gaps in between. 

Hawke had delivered on her promise to find him the ingredients for his plan, taking the time to track down the rare items in between helping Meredith further her control over the mages and the city. He was disgusted by her decision to side with the templars and often wondered how Bethany would feel about her sister’s choices if she knew, but he was grateful to her regardless for assisting him. He knew she only did it because she thought she was giving him a way to escape Justice, but the fact that she would still trust him after everything that had happened, that she would care about him enough to make the effort… It stung, actually. Because he knew he didn’t deserve that trust. And now he had betrayed it in the worst possible way. She still didn’t know. He’d avoided telling her anything about his plans, and she still likely thought he was intending to go through with his imaginary ritual at some point. He could tell her that it had failed. But what would be the point of continuing the lie? Everything would be over soon enough.

He’d put the ingredients to use and now everything was ready. All he was waiting for was the right moment to enact their plans. Justice assured him that they would know when the time arrived, and Anders found himself passing the days in a fog, both dreading that moment and aching for it to arrive. Part of him was ready for everything to be over, ready to end the endless waiting and finally act. How many more people would suffer before they finally made their move? But Justice was adamant that they wait to act until the critical moment when it would have the greatest impact. 

In the meantime, Anders was preparing himself for the end. He arranged to have one of his former patients take care of the stray cats he had been feeding, and he’d talked to Lirene about ensuring Varric’s shipments of healing supplies got where they were needed if he was no longer around to receive them. When she asked him if he was planning to leave the city, he merely smiled and let her draw her own conclusions. But now he had reached the most difficult part of his preparations: saying goodbye.

He didn’t have many goodbyes to say, actually. Isabela had been gone for a while and he had nothing to say to most of Hawke’s friends. But he needed to see Varric. The dwarf had always been kind to him, and even though he could never have him in the way he truly wanted, he would always love him. They hadn’t talked much since what happened in Bartrand’s estate months ago, but he knew that Varric had only taken his anger out on him because he had nowhere else to direct it. Knowing Varric, he’d probably already gotten over it and was only avoiding him now because he felt awkward about the whole thing and was too embarrassed to admit it. Anders had little doubt that Varric would feel differently about what he was about to do, however. It was very possible that Varric would want to have nothing to do with him afterward, but he still felt the need to leave a piece of himself behind with the dwarf, some relic that would prove there was more to him than his final act.

Varric was out when he arrived at the Hanged Man, so he leaned back against the wall beside his door and settled in to wait. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, watching the local drunk making his wobbly rounds of the tavern and muttering strange things to himself under his breath, but eventually he heard the telltale gait of Varric’s boots against the floor and looked up to see the dwarf climbing the steps. 

Pausing on the top step, Varric gave him an annoyed look. He looked frustrated and tired and not in the mood for a serious chat, but Anders was committed now.

“Blondie.” Voice was flat and distant, Varric didn’t even look at Anders as he unlocked his door and walked through it, leaving the door open but not actually inviting Anders inside. Pulling a bottle of whiskey off the shelf, he filled a glass with amber liquid and sat down in his usual chair, rubbing at his forehead as if to ease a headache.

Feeling uneasy, Anders followed him into the room but didn’t sit down, walking around the table to stand in front of the fire. It was probably nerves, but he felt chilled to the bone.

“Hawke said you were looking for a way to separate yourself from Justice.”

Closing his eyes, Anders tried not to react. Of course Hawke had said something to Varric about his plans. But he didn’t want to lie to the dwarf. Varric was too good at reading him.

When he didn’t respond, Varric asked, “Any luck with that?”

“It’s too late, I’m afraid.”

Varric made a sound then, something akin to a grunt, but it was difficult to interpret. Was he agreeing or disagreeing? Or simply acknowledging Anders’ answer?

Glancing at him, Anders frowned at the way the dwarf slumped in the chair, his head resting against the back and lips drawn tight in a grimace. “You look tired,” he said.

Varric sighed. “Being the head of the family is overrated. Ever since Bartrand died, I’ve been mired in guild politics, petty squabbles and maneuvering for power. It’s exhausting.”

Anders suddenly felt guilty for adding to Varric’s troubles. Maybe he should just leave him in peace. “I shouldn’t have bothered you,” he said, moving closer to Varric’s chair and reaching down to press a hand against his forehead with a thread of magic. The least he could do was soothe away his headache. “I’ll come back another time.” The words stuck in his throat. He had a feeling they would end up being a lie.

Catching his wrist, Varric squinted up at him. “Why were you waiting for me?”

Anders looked down at his feet to avoid meeting Varric’s eye. “I…came to give you this.” He offered the object he had been clutching against his chest since he left his clinic in search of Varric.

Looking down at the worn cloth, Varric made a soft sound of surprise. For one awful moment, Anders thought he would laugh. “A pillow?”

Still avoiding meeting his eyes directly, Anders nodded. “It was hand embroidered by my mother. The only thing of hers they let me keep when I went to the Circle.”

Varric sat up straighter in his chair, and this time when he looked at the pillow he seemed to see it for what it really was, a piece of Anders’ heart, the only remnant of his past he had left. “Why in the name of Andraste would you give that to me?” His voice sounded raw, and Anders realized he had made a mistake. This gift was too personal for a friend and Varric would see right through it.

He needed to end this conversation quickly. “You’ve been a good friend, Varric,” he said, his own voice rough and heavy with emotion. Pushing the pillow toward Varric, he turned to walk away.

But Varric pushed the pillow back into his hands, shaking his head. “No. You keep your pillow, Blondie, and may you have many more dreams of killing Templars on it.”

Hands shaking, Anders turned and placed the pillow on the table instead. “Take it or throw it away. It’s up to you. I don’t need it anymore.”

“Blondie… What are you not saying?”

“Nothing. I should go.”

“Anders.” Varric’s voice was full of worry now and a hint of urgency as he stood up to follow him, but Hawke was standing in the doorway when Anders arrived, blocking his exit.

“There you are,” she said, eyes burning with anger as she pinned Anders with her gaze. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. It looks like the revolution you keep longing for is finally about to start and I want you where I can see you before things go any further.”

Startled, Anders shook his head. “What do you mean?”

Lifting a piece of paper clenched in her fist, she said, “I just received a letter from Knight-Commander Meredith. Orsino has been harboring blood mages. She intends to search the Circle for them, but he is refusing her entry. She’s asked for my help.”

“I won’t help her.”

“Then don’t. But I’m not letting you out of my sight.” She grabbed his arm and her grip was so tight that it hurt. Heart racing as he realized that this was the point of no return, Anders stumbled after her, disappointed when he heard Varric following. He didn’t want Varric there when it happened.

But Varric’s door slammed behind them and the dwarf caught up before they reached the street, Bianca perched on his back. “Want me to round up the others, Hawke?”

“You’d probably better. Orsino is headed to the chantry to ask for Elthina’s support. We’ll meet on the way.”

“Got it. Be careful, Hawke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was hard to write. The scene with the pillow always gets to me. It says so much about their friendship that Anders would give something so personal to Varric even in a playthrough when he’s romancing Hawke.


	25. No Turning Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I strayed a bit from the game as far as the choices you can make. I realized when I sat down to write this that I had mangled things when I was writing the Wrong Man, and there was no way to get exactly the right outcome with the actual choices in the game. Plus, I had been planning on having Hawke side with the templars, but I didn’t want her to end up becoming the viscount.

Varric had always considered himself an excellent judge of character. He’d known right away that Hawke was going to be someone important. He’d known Isabela would end up disappointing him – although he’d often hoped he would be wrong. And he’d known from their first meeting that Anders was the type of tragic hero who didn’t get to make it to the end of his own story. He’d even made jokes about it. But he hadn’t expected him to turn out to be the villain. When Justice began taking over and Anders’ sanity began slipping, he still hadn’t expected him to do something like this. Anders was a healer. He wanted to help people. Even with Justice whispering in his ear, how could he possibly justify this?

Fear had gripped him like a fist in his gut the moment Anders stepped forward to interrupt the argument between Meredith and Orsino. Until then he’d actually started to believe that Hawke had averted the danger, that by keeping Anders in her sight she could prevent him from doing something foolish, but it was clear that she was much too late. Anders must have been planning this for quite some time and there was nothing any of them could do now to stop him.

Accusing both Meredith and Orsino of being part of the problem, Anders had rapped his staff against the ground – but Varric didn’t realize until later that he had probably been triggering what came next – and announced that he was removing the possibility of compromise. Justice glowed from within him as he spoke. “The Circle has failed us. The time has come to act. There can be no half-measures. There’s no turning back.”

And then it happened. The light had burst from the chantry before the sound caught up, the massive towers of the church exploding in slow motion. Varric could have almost believed he was dreaming it all until the shock wave of heat and smoke rolled over them, spreading ash in its wake like snow. 

“What have you done?” Hawke demanded, reaching out to grab Anders but he stepped out of reach. Varric expected the look on his face to be triumphant and he wasn’t wrong, but it was also a little sad. And the faint flicker of blue light in the mage’s eyes was a constant now. 

Orsino turned to face Anders, his expression lost and confused. “Why? Why would you do this?” 

“There can be no peace,” Anders said and he seemed to believe this fact with such conviction that any means was justifiable as long as it made his point.

Sebastian’s cry of outrage broke the shocked silence, and Varric found himself honestly sympathizing with Choir Boy in that moment. The kid had done what he could to talk the Grand Cleric into leaving Kirkwall before it was too late, but she had been stubborn. And now she had paid for her faith with her own life.

Ash falling onto her pale hair, Meredith lifted her chin and turned to face them all with rage burning in her eyes. “The Grand Cleric has been slain by magic, the chantry destroyed. As Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment. Every mage in the Circle is to be executed immediately.”

Well shit. That had to be pretty much the last thing Blondie had intended. Varric turned to look at him, but to his shock Anders’ expression was beatific as if he thought that this was simply Meredith finally showing her true colors rather making a choice that was a direct result of his own actions. Shaking his head, Varric took a step away from the group, unable to process what he was seeing with what he thought he knew about the man who had been one of his closest friends. Anders had been slowly changing for years, but Varric had refused to believe that this vengeful side of him was anything more than glimpses of Justice breaking through the surface. Now he wondered. How much of Anders – the gentle healer who gave his services away for free, told bad jokes, fed stray kittens and was bad at cards because he refused to cheat – was even left. Had Anders been occasionally pretending to still be that man simply to keep his secret?

“The Circle didn’t even do this!” Orsino protested, and the Grand Enchanter begged Hawke for her help in stopping Meredith. 

But Meredith expected Hawke’s help as well. She demanded it, calling on Hawke’s title as Champion of Kirkwall to force her to defend the city. Hawke seemed horrified by the decision, shaking her head, eyes wide with emotion as she struggled to think her way out of the conundrum. Normally Varric would be quick with a suggestion, but he had no answers now. This was exactly why he had always stayed out of arguments about mages and templars. It was an irreconcilable situation. 

Stepping forward with fury in every angle of his posture, Sebastian said in a guttural voice akin to a growl, “Why are we debating the Rite of Annulment when the monster who did this is right here?” He turned his glare on Anders and for the first time since the chantry had exploded, the confidence on Anders’ features wavered. “I swear to you: I will kill him.”

There was a time when Varric would have done anything in his power to protect Anders from such a fate, but he didn’t know what he would be protecting now. The Anders he had wanted to protect might not even exist anymore. The realization was painful to accept because it implied that he had missed an opportunity along the way to protect him before it was too late. He’d ignored the parts of Anders that were difficult to accept, his frequent rants on mage rights, his sour attitude and glazed look when Justice was influencing his thoughts. And by ignoring them he’d allowed them to fester and grow until they were all that remained.

“It can’t be stopped now. You’ll need to choose,” Anders said to Hawke. “The Circle is an injustice, in many places beyond Kirkwall. The world needs to see.”

“Elthina was not the Circle,” Sebastian protested, voice cracking with emotion. “She was a good woman and you murdered her!”

Hawke scrubbed her hands over her face and shook with anger when she focused on Anders again. “You’re a murderer. The grand cleric, the mages… Their blood is on your hands!”

The expression on Anders’ face was unrepentant. “I know.”

Meredith looked at him with disgust twisting her lips. “It doesn’t matter. Even if I wished to, I could not stay my hand. The people will demand blood. Make your choice, Champion. Will you stand with me? Or turn against the city?”

“I refuse to choose,” Hawke said. “If my sister hadn’t joined the wardens, she might be in the Circle by now and she wouldn’t deserve this.”

“You cannot remain neutral. If you refuse to take sides then you will fall with these mages!” 

Hawke’s expression was tortured when she turned back to face Meredith. “Then I have no choice. You have your Champion.”

“You fool!” Orsino cursed Anders. “You’ve doomed us all.”

A sad smile twisted Anders' lips. Varric had been growing to loathe that smile as it became the only version of the expression that Anders ever made anymore, but seeing it now only turned his stomach. “We were already doomed. A quick death now, or a slow one later – I’d rather die fighting.”

Meredith turned to attack the mages Orsino had brought with him while the Grand Enchanter himself ran off to warn the mages in the Gallows. Hawke followed Meredith, drawing her weapons and looking every bit as conflicted about the choice as Varric felt. They were the victims in all this but he also knew that Meredith was right about their lack of options. There would be rioting in the streets over what had happened and the mages were likely to die either way. It still made him queasy. 

When the fight was over, Meredith told Hawke to meet her at the Gallows, leaving Anders’ fate to Hawke, but it was obvious that she expected Hawke to execute him. Anders was sitting slumped on a nearby crate, elbows on his knees and head bowed, waiting passively for Hawke’s judgment and Varric hated everything about the way he was sitting there acting like a martyr waiting for a righteous death. Hands clenching at his sides, Varric continued to study the mage’s weary features in search of any sign of the man who had once been his friend but found nothing that made him want to intervene.

“There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t already said to myself,” Anders said when he heard Hawke approach. “I took a spirit into my soul and changed myself forever to achieve this. This is the justice all mages have awaited.”

Hawke stood over him, her hand on the hilt of the knife tucked into her belt, lips pressed into a taut line. “Did that spirit tell you to do this?” Hawke asked, and it was a question Varric desperately wanted answered as well.

“No,” Anders said firmly, but his voice was flat, almost as emotionless as a tranquil. “We are one now. The world needs to see this. Then maybe we can all stop pretending the Circle is a solution. And if I pay for that with my life, then I pay. Perhaps then Justice would at least be free.”

Hawke was incredulous, her knife drawn now and hovering menacingly over his back. She knew how to end his life with one strike, a quick stab into his heart and all this would be over. An ache of regret burned in Varric’s chest as he thought about it and he looked away, unable to watch any longer. “You really think this is the answer?” she demanded.

“Things can’t stay as they are.”

Taking a deep breath, Hawke turned to her friends for perspective, but Varric suspected she had already made her decision. 

Fenris crossed his arms over his chest. “He wants to die. Kill him and be done with it.”

“Belief is no excuse,” Aveline agreed, but she seemed saddened by the decision. “Sincerity does not justify this.”

Merrill was a bit more circumspect, unsurprisingly generous given her own mistakes. “He should come with us. Do what he can to put things right.”

“You already know what I think,” Sebastian hissed. “He deserves to die.”

“Varric?” Hawke gave him a pleading look and he swallowed, almost wishing Anders would look his way. Maybe if he could just look him in the eyes he could understand… But Anders didn’t look up and somehow that only served to confirm that he was no longer the man he’d once known. 

“I think I’m sick of mages and templars,” Varric said finally, ultimately unable to make this choice. He couldn’t sentence his friend to death even if he had probably ruined the city Varric loved, even if there was nothing left of him to save. Varric had made that awful choice with his own brother and regretted it every day since, and Bartrand’s actions had been almost as hideous as what Anders had done here today. He wanted to agree with Merrill, wanted to force Anders to make up for his mistakes the hard way, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice the opinion. He didn’t want Anders to think that he might be capable of forgiving him.

“Whatever you decide, just do it,” Anders said finally, breaking the silence.

Hawke adjusted her grip on the knife. “Help me restore order.”

“Fight with the Templars? Against the mages?” Anders shook his head. “No, you can’t ask me to do that. I’d rather die.”

Biting her lip, Hawke looked down at the knife in her hand. After a long, tense moment she sighed. “Just go. If I ever see you again, I will kill you.” Stunned, Varric’s jaw dropped open. After all their arguments, all the reasons she had to hate Anders, he’d never expected her to let him go. Had she seen something in Anders’ eyes that made her think he was still worth saving? Or was this simply a crack in her seemingly impenetrable armor that he had never seen coming? She had lost so many people in her life. Maybe after all that loss she simply wasn’t capable of ending the life of a friend, even when it seemed to be the right thing to do.

“No! You cannot let this abomination walk free.” Sebastian lunged toward her and Hawke lifted the knife between them in warning. “He dies or I am returning to Starkhaven. And I will bring such an army with me on my return that there’ll be nothing left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule!”

Varric expected Hawke to waver then, to reconsider her decision, but Sebastian’s outrage only seemed to solidify her decision. “Do not interfere, Sebastian. I’ve already made up my mind.”

Sebastian slumped. “I will not fight you, Hawke. My death now would serve nothing. I will return to Starkhaven, but I swear to you, Anders, I will come back and find you. I will teach you what true justice is!”

Anders didn’t move until Sebastian was gone, finally standing up and turning back to face Hawke with wariness in his eyes. Thinking suddenly of how he had acted after Justice took over the first time, when he’d almost killed a mage by accident, Varric remembered how Anders had seemed relieved by the idea that Hawke might take matters into her own hands if he lost control again. It had seemed to ease his mind to know that Hawke would kill him before he could make a mistake like that. But now he appeared to be grateful for his life in spite of everything he’d done, and Varric didn’t believe for a second that Justice had nothing to do with this change in him.

“Thank you for my life,” Anders said, backing away. “I’ll try not to make such a mess of it this time.”

“Just get out of my sight.” 

Varric didn’t look to see Anders walk away, hands clenched at his sides and shaking with the effort to contain his conflicted emotions. 

When he was gone, Hawke turned to face the rest of them, a muscle twitching in her jaw with the effort to control her reactions. “We need to get to the Gallows.”

The day ended about as horribly as it had started, and by the time they arrived at the Gallows Hawke had changed her mind about killing the mages, turning against Meredith before she could finish what she’d started. Varric was actually relieved by this decision, unable to stomach the idea of killing more innocents.

“Then you are choosing to share their fate,” Meredith said coldly, and something about the glow in her eyes struck Varric as familiar. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about Meredith was not quite right and hadn’t been for a while. But he had been so distracted by his feelings about Anders to give it much attention.

“Knight-Commander, shouldn’t we arrest the Champion instead?”

“You will do as I command, Cullen.”

But for Knight-Captain Cullen, this seemed to be the last straw. “No. I defended you when Thrask started whispering you were mad. But this is too far.”

Meredith’s face twisted with rage and she drew her sword against Cullen for disobeying her order. Her eyes were lit with a mad glint, and Varric finally understood why when he saw the red light flickering from her blade. He’d been so overwhelmed by everything that he hadn’t noticed the faint singing in the back of his mind but it was louder now, calling him to reach out and touch the sword. That was when he noticed the red crystal forged into the sword’s hilt.

“Andraste’s dimpled buttcheeks!” he hissed, shocked that he’d spent so much time searching for Bartrand’s buyer when she was right here all along, the last person he would have expected.

Meredith’s lips curled in a wicked grin. “You recognize it, do you not? Your lyrium, taken from the Deep Roads. The dwarf charged a great deal for his prize.”

“Enough,” Cullen said, drawing his own weapon. “This is not what the order stands for. Knight-Commander, step down. I am relieving you of command.”

Meredith gaped at him in disgust. “My own Knight-Captain falls prey to the influence of blood mages. You all have. You’re all weak, allowing the mages to control your minds, to turn you against me! But I don’t need any of you. I will protect this city myself!”

“She’s lost it,” Varric muttered under his breath. “Just like Bartrand.” And all of his doubts about his brother, the decisions he had made fell away. That idol was pure evil and had caused as much damage as the spirit Anders had been harboring. It had to be destroyed.

They fought Meredith alongside the templars, but the idol itself proved to be Meredith’s undoing. When she asked it for too much power it consumed her entirely, calcifying around her body and turning her into a glowing red statue in the center of the Gallows courtyard. A templar moved closer to it in curiosity, but Varric shouted at her to stay back. He doubted they would listen to his warning long-term, but he couldn’t stand to watch anyone else fall victim to the idol now, not after everything else that had happened today.

Unfortunately, Hawke’s decision to turn against the templars in the end meant that they were not congratulated after the battle. But at least Cullen seemed convinced that annulling the whole Circle over the actions of one mage who wasn’t even a part of it was no longer a great idea. Varric had heard rumors about the Knight-Captain and knew that he had been in Fereldan’s Circle when it was overrun by abominations and had faced enough true horror to know the difference. It didn’t help that the annulment had been ordered by an insane woman who had caused untold damage to the Circle and the order of Templars over the course of years. 

“I wish that you had chosen differently where Anders was concerned,” Cullen said darkly. “But we will track him down and see that justice is done. You can be certain of that.”

Hawke smiled wanly. “He is good at running away.”

“I’m well aware,” Cullen replied with a flash of anger and Varric remembered what Anders had said about knowing Cullen. He wondered if the templar had recognized him after all, but if he had, why had he allowed him to walk free for so many years? “Regardless, I’m afraid that you are no longer welcome in Kirkwall.”

“I figured as much,” Hawke admitted, swallowing hard. “This city was reluctant to welcome me from the beginning.” 

Turning, she began to walk back toward the docks and her companions fell into step behind her, even Varric who had never in his wildest dreams planned to leave the city except in death. But he had been close to Anders as well. He thought of the hand embroidered pillow still sitting on his table at the Hanged Man, a symbol of the connection between them and the last shred of humanity Anders had left to share. He’d immediately rejected the gift, knowing what it meant that Anders was giving it to him and wanting once again to delay the inevitable and pretend that everything was fine. But things hadn’t been fine for a long time.

He’d thought they’d lie low for a while and wait for things to die down, but the chaos dragged on for months. They wandered across the countryside biding their time, taking odd jobs here and there and doing little more than surviving. As time passed, they each began to go their separate ways, but Varric stayed by Hawke’s side as long as he could, unable to leave her after everything they’d been through together and also unable to figure out where he should be instead. Without Kirkwall, he didn’t know where he belonged anymore.

As they traveled, he kept thinking that they would come across a lonely apostate on the road, worried that Hawke would have to keep the promise she’d made back in Kirkwall if they saw him. Varric wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to see Blondie’s face again, but he certainly didn’t want to watch as the life went out of it. But they found no sign of him other than in the rebellion he had triggered. There were plenty of signs of that everywhere they went. Anders had sent the message he’d wanted to send, and there was no peace to be found anywhere.

After months on the road, Varric finally finished his book and managed to deliver it to his publisher. The Tale of the Champion, he called it, a rather obvious title but there wasn’t much point in being coy. It was Hawke’s story and the rest of them were just participating in it. He knew that the public would expect Anders to be the villain even though Meredith was also to blame, but it was still hard for him to paint the mage with such a broad brush. But as time passed he found his anger growing and his compassion waning, his memories of the Anders who shared stories over a mug of ale or healed his wounds with such a gentle touch twisting until he no longer knew if they were even real. Had he imagined how kind Anders could be? Had the mage been putting on an act all those years? He felt like a fool for failing to anticipate how it would all end and couldn’t accept that he might have unconsciously allowed Anders’ behavior with his avoidance.

The Tale of the Champion quickly became his most popular book. And that popularity came with consequences, the most obvious of which turned out to be a Seeker of the Light named Cassandra. Tall and imposing, she was both beautiful and relentless. And she was after Hawke. Or Anders. He couldn’t be sure which one when she first started asking her questions. But he couldn’t risk putting Hawke in danger, so he dragged out the conversation as long as he could, keeping her distracted until he could figure out her game.

By the time he finally learned what she was after, he had managed to accidentally get himself involved in the next big story he would have to write: the story of the Inquisition.


	26. The Space Between

Anders’ memory was hazy these days. Sometimes the gaps lasted hours, sometimes days and occasionally a week or more. 

Justice was exultant after what happened in Kirkwall, but Anders could only remember fragments. He remembered the chantry explosion, the rage in Hawke’s eyes. He remembered the feral sound of Sebastian’s voice when he vowed to track him down and teach him the true meaning of justice. He remembered the look on Varric’s face, a broken, haunted expression that Anders had never wanted to cause, and as soon as he saw it he knew that Varric would never trust him again.

Made vulnerable by this realization, Anders had let Justice take the lead, relieved to have his pain exchanged with righteous indignation, his doubt replaced by certainty. He’d fully expected to die before it was over and had been waiting desperately for Hawke’s death blow as soon as Meredith left his fate in her hands. But despite everything he thought he knew about her, she had chosen to let him live. Anders screamed at her from within the confines of his own mind, but it was too late for him to take back control and Justice was too pleased to let him waste the opportunity Hawke had given them. They still had too much to do.

Anders tried to look over his shoulder as they walked away, attempting to get one last glimpse of Varric before he lost sight of him forever, but Justice wouldn’t let him look back. “They have all abandoned you, including the dwarf,” he said definitively. “You need to let them go.”

Anders clawed at the inside of his mind, doing everything he could to wrest control back from the spirit, but everything went black then and he didn’t come back to himself until some time later. He woke in a cave in the middle of the wilderness with no idea of where he was or where he had been going. His clothes were worn and dirty and he had a full growth of beard as well as a few scars he didn’t remember. What had Justice been doing with his body? 

“We have been fighting,” Justice said weakly from the back of his mind. All the fighting must have exhausted the spirit and that was the only reason Anders had been able to regain control at all. 

Stumbling out of the cave and squinting into the bright sunlight, Anders tried to make sense of his surroundings, wandering over the hills until he reached the edge of a cliff and saw the ocean crashing against a rocky shore far below. Looking down into those waves, he thought of Isabela and wondered if she’d ever found a ship. Maybe she was off looting and smuggling again, finally living the life she’d put on hold while she lingered in Kirkwall. He hoped so. He was glad she had left before what happened at the end. At least this way she could remember him as the type of man she might have wanted to run away with instead of the kind she would have hated. At least he thought she would hate him for what he’d done. Everyone else had.

Looking down into the dark water, he leaned forward, balancing precariously on the edge. All it would take was one step. He could finish what Hawke had refused to do. He could end things before they caused even more damage. 

He was so close to succeeding, but Justice was too strong. The spirit took control before he could jump, flinging him back onto the cliff with such force that he hit his head against a rock and passed out. The next time he woke they were in a village he didn’t recognize and the time after that on a farm. Then a city on the shore of a lake. He had only brief periods of control in between, enough to get his bearings and learn a little about current events before Justice took the lead again. 

The mage rebellion had disrupted the whole world, their actions in Kirkwall the final spark needed to light the flames of change. But change looked a lot like chaos, and everywhere they went Anders was reminded of how painful change could be. People were dying, some of them guilty and some innocent, both ground beneath the wheels of progress. Justice wouldn’t let him question their choices for long, reminding him of all the reasons they had started this, all the reasons why the fighting was necessary. And he wanted to believe him, but he still had his doubts, especially when he saw how much suffering the revolution was causing in every part of Thedas. 

When Justice allowed him freedom, he moved among the people healing the injured and giving comfort to the dying, no longer noticing which side they espoused, seeing only the wounds and the fear. He knew Justice disapproved when he helped a templar or someone who hated mages, but Anders had so little of himself to hold onto that he clung to the one thing he knew he could still do: heal. 

They were walking along the outskirts of a large city when he heard Varric’s name in conversation and learned about the dwarf’s latest work. Burning with curiosity, he found the nearest bookseller and leafed through one of the thick leather volumes. He had no money to buy a copy so he scanned the pages quickly, standing in a corner of the shop and hoping to avoid notice as long as he could. But he felt queasy after reading only a fraction of the story. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it still hurt to see the words his friend wrote about him, the way he coldly painted him as a traitor at the end. Searching through the pages for any glimpse of the friendship they had once shared, he found only pity. And shame.

Slamming the book shut, he shoved it back onto the shelf where he had found it and hurried out onto the dirty street, huddling into his cloak and trying to ignore the twisted feelings writhing around in his gut like snakes.

“Things have gone wrong,” he said to Justice in his mind. “We can’t let them continue like this.”

Justice seemed to be confused. This wasn’t the first time Anders had shared such thoughts, but it was perhaps the first time he had felt them with such conviction. “What would you have us do?”

“I don’t know,” Anders admitted. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Justice didn’t respond, but Anders could feel him ruminating on the question. Something in the spirit had shifted, his endless wrath finally cooling enough to allow more reasonable emotions to take its place.

Anders made another attempt on his life that night. This wasn’t the second or even third attempt at this point, but it was the closest he ever got to succeeding. He attempted to stab himself through the heart like Hawke should have done back in Kirkwall, but Justice shifted his aim at the last moment. The knife sunk into his side and did enough damage for his vision to blur with pain, but he knew enough about anatomy to know that it wouldn’t kill him unless he died of blood loss. Still, the pain was overwhelming, and he collapsed on his side with the knife still buried deep.

“You must heal yourself, Anders,” Justice shouted at him, lifting his hand weakly. “We will do what we can to stop the chaos, I promise. But you must survive or we won’t be able to help anyone.”

Anders wasn’t sure if he could believe the spirit at this point, but he wanted to believe in something. Gripping the hilt of the knife, he pulled it out with a grunt of pain and flung it off into the darkness. Drawing on what mana he could still access with all the energy pooling on the ground beneath him alongside the blood, he pressed a hand against the wound and began to heal, feeling Justice bolster his power as he patched his internal organs first and removed any chance of internal bleeding. He ran out of magic before he could finish stitching the skin back together and he knew it would leave a nasty scar, but he decided that was a good thing. It would serve as a reminder of this promise.

“Don’t forget,” he whispered to Justice as he felt darkness rush over him.

He had no way of knowing how long it had been when he regained consciousness again. The wound had completely healed, but he felt a new one on his cheek, a cut that had only recently begun to heal on its own. Shivering in the cold, he hugged his cloak close as he followed a crowd up the side of a mountain, hearing whispers along the way of a Divine Conclave, a last ditch attempt by the Divine to broker peace between mages and templars. 

“Is that where we’re going?” he asked Justice, but the spirit refused to answer, brooding over his own thoughts silently. 

Anders had no way of knowing if the spirit intended to keep his promise, but he wanted to believe in Justice. He wanted to believe in himself. He wanted to believe that they didn’t have to twist each other into impossible moral quandaries, that they could choose to do the right thing and act in kindness instead of anger. But he didn’t get the chance to find out either way because by the time they arrived at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Justice was again in control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: The Wrong Man. Thanks for coming on this journey with me. I enjoyed finishing this far more than I expected I would considering how tragic it is by the end. I hope the transition into the next story isn’t too jarring for anyone reading this for the first time. I tried hard to marry the two up, but I realize now that there are a few details I would add or things I would tweak about The Wrong Man if I’d written them in order. But that’s okay. I’ll try to resist the temptation to fall into the impossible search for perfection. Thanks for reading!


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